


Patton the Friendly Ghost

by twopinchesofcinnamon



Series: Patton the Friendly Ghost [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Ghost!AU, Ghost!Remy, Ghost!patton, Other ghosts that will be revealed as I write, Slower updates than promised because of high schooool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twopinchesofcinnamon/pseuds/twopinchesofcinnamon
Summary: Virgil moves into a new apartment.He expects water bills and bug problems, not a bubbly, glowing man who's dead set on making him feel better.*abandoned until further notice*





	1. Patton the Friendly Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning.

Now, Virgil's not known to be an overly dramatic person, but Roman is going to get a chopstick to the face if he doesn't shut the hell up.

Seriously, he's been talking in his flamboyant, narrator voice for the entire car ride. And, sure, it's only thirty minutes, but there's a limit to how much knock-off Shakespeare Virgil can take in a day. Plus it's so dark out that he can't stare at the window instead of listening.

Logan, ever the smart one of the group, chose to be designated driver and is currently steering with a pair of headphones that Virgil is oh-so-jealous of. He bops his head along to what is likely wordless violin, mocking Virgil from his mighty driver's throne, and successfully drowning out Roman's enthusiastic back-seat lesson. Virgil tries very hard not to resent him.

"Now Virgil, you must make sure to wash your clothing at least once every week and be sure to—"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Virgil grumbles loudly, blowing his lavender bangs out of his eyes, "And how many times should I brush my teeth? What about showers? Is shampoo a must or should I skip out?" Virgil enunciates eat statement by shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth.

Roman throws him a look as if he were a peasant committing an act of treason against him, and gobbles up some rice, pouting, "I'm just trying to offer up my expertise in hopes that you'll heed my advice on his new adventure ahead of you."

Virgil watches Roman deflate and swallows his food with a sigh, "Look, Ro. I get that you want to help, but I'm just getting a new apartment. It's not that big of a deal. I've been living off you and Logan for too long, and that cot is making me slouch, at least more so than usual—"

Roman opens his mouth to add on, but Virgil continues, determined to strike his point home.

"—And don't offer to get a new apartment now that I'm here, because we both know how much Logan loves living near his parents. And you're not fooling me, I can tell you've gotten attached to the place, despite the mold and occasional ant outbreak."

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Roman concedes, "As much as it pains me to admit, you have a point. Logan would never want to leave that decorated dump and I've put so much work into starting to make it worthy of it's owners."

"You literally just added red curtains and covered up the mold with wallpaper," Virgil skeptically points out around a mouthful of food, turning around in his seat.

"Okay, first of all—ew," Roman's eyebrows knit together in an affronted manner as he pauses to judge Virgil, "Chew with your mouth closed, heathen. But I'll have you know, that I had to scour every Home Depot within driving distance to find curtains that were that silky smooth."

"Bold of you to think that I'd believe Logan would let you drive his car."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have literally crashed three separate cars in the time I've known you. I've only known you for two years, Roman."

"How dare you!? I am a very adequate driver! It's just... It's fun to watch the speed-o-meter thingy move up and down."

"What does that even—you know what? Never mind. Just please remind me to never let you drive me anywhere," he pauses for a beat, "So you admit Logan did not let you drive his car?"

"Okay, so Logan scoured every Home Depot within driving distance to find the sheets that I told him we needed. It still took work!"

"Yeah, and I'm sure Logan appreciates you taking all the credit, Narcissus."

"If you two are quite finished," Logan says as he pulls out his earbuds, "We've arrived."

The car pulls up to a fancy black gate patterned with swirls. A silver signs reads 'Sunny Oaks' in intricate calligraphy. Logan leans out the window to type in the password. In the distance, the apartments loom above them, watching like birds.

"Virgil," Roman inquires, gazing at the tall, golden building behind the gate, "How much did you say rent here was?"

Virgil, who's entirely unfazed, glances up from his phone and squints at the complex, "Oh yeah, I forgot you two haven't been here yet."

As the gate parts for the car, Logan says, "I must agree that the amount you told us does not seem to line up with the building itself."

"What he said," Roman agrees.

"I don't know," Virgil shrugs, "apparently the last, like, four people renting this room ended up leaving after a month or two. They didn't say why."

"What?" Roman gasps dramatically, "Virgil! What if there's a monster or something chasing people away?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Logan and Virgil scoff.

They pull into a parking space and step out of the car, grabbing their takeout and tilting their heads up. The building towers above them, a beacon in the night.

"While I hardly think monsters are involved," Logan states with contempt, "It is mildly concerning that this string of people decided to leave so suddenly. Have you talked to any of them?"

"Sweet of you to ask, Logan, but it's the only affordable place near you two. There's no need to contact anyone. I'm sure they'd just assume I was some sort of freak for worrying over nothing. So if I get attacked by a vampire or something, it'll be worth it, since I can just hitch a ride and see Mr. Nurse-in-training over here to patch me up," Virgil says, bumping his shoulder with Roman's.

They step into the elevator as Roman lets out a happy squeal, "Aw, Logan. Look! It cares about us!"

"It would appear so," Logan smirks.

"Piss off," Virgil says with a smile and a middle finger.

A light ping interrupts Virgil's resounding annoyance (and affection) as they reach his floor.

"What's the number?" Roman asks, snagging a pinkish candy from a table just outside elevator.

"Apartment 4S," Logan recites.

They walk down the winding hallway, Roman swinging the Chinese merrily, Virgil and Logan lagging a few feet behind him. Roman bounds a little to far, taking a minute to realize he overestimated. He backtracks to where his friends are stood, popping the candy in his mouth.

"Finally," Virgil mumbles. He pulls the sleek keycard from his hoodie pocket and unlocks the door. He's a bit nervous, as he's been to the building itself, but hasn't actually seen the room yet, save for a few pictures.

"Oh," Roman says.

"Huh," Virgil says.

Logan just grunts.

"It's—ah, very bright?" Roman cringes at the baby blue walls that were most certainly not in the promo photos Virgil saw.

The front room has a single lime green couch that clashes spectacularly with the walls and floor, which is a pale yellow. The three set the Chinese on a rickety coffee table that probably has a week left in it. There are cracks in the wall paint that spiderweb up to the ceiling. A few cockroaches skitter across the floor as if warning them away and Virgil is thinking he should go. The whole place has been beautiful, but the one ugly room had to be his?

Roman breaks the silence, "Guys, are you sure this is the right room?"

Logan responds with a quick "Positive," as Virgil pokes dejectedly at the couch, saying "I'm positive that this room belonged to a physco-killer."

"Well—I mean," Roman stutters, "the colors may not work that well, but the overall appeal is—ah, what's the word—charming?" He gives Virgil his winningest smile and gestures pathetically at the ratchet room.

"It's like a five-year old did the interior and a sick panda did the cleaning," Virgil moans wig his hand over his eyes as a shield.

Logan gives him an odd look, "Confusing, but accurate comparison."

Roman's phone gives a mighty ring-ring, startling all three of them.

"Greetings, who goes there?" Roman answers with his usual swagger.

Virgil and Logan share an exasperated look.

Roman's face splits into a grin, "Why hello, Mrs. Kline! Yes, he's right here with me... Uh-huh... of course, I'm sorry! Well you know our Lo-Lo! Here you go!" He holds the phone out for Logan, who has gone stiff in annoyance.

Logan takes the phone gives his much less startling greeting, "Hello, Mother."

Virgil and Roman share an exasperated look.

"Yes, I left it at home... we'll be at dinner soon... No, Mother, Virgil is staying here tonight... Yes, I'll make sure to ask him... Alright, goodbye. I love you as well."

He hands Roman his phone and turns to Virgil.

"That is our cue to leave. My mother has extended an invitation for you to join us for lunch tomorrow, if you'd like."

"Well, it's not like I have any other friends."

"Now, now, don't go saying that," Roman traps Virgil in hug, "I'm sure you'll meet some wonderful residents here!"

"Yeah, well, at least I can get out of this room to visit you," Virgil reasons, half-heartedly struggling in Roman's grip.

"See! A bright side!" Roman exclaims, elegantly pumping a fist, "And, of course, we will come here after lunch to work our magic on this crusty old apartment."

"Don't use the word crusty," Virgil shudders, "It's far too accurate."

"I don't remember agreeing to—" Logan is suddenly pushed out the door.

Roman bows at Virgil, "You know how Mama Logan gets when we arrive more that fashionably late. Until next time, My Chemical Romance! I'll order a new couch for you!" He sprints out the door, presumably dragging Logan behind him.

"See you later, Princey," Virgil mutters with a lazy salute. The sound of his two friends bickering slowly fades away. He hides his grin under his face, in case anyone else is somehow watching. Finally time to wind down.

Virgil picks at the tattered couch and decides it's still better than the floor. Until he buys a mattress, at least.

He heads to the bathroom, which is about as clean as he expected it to be. The shower curtain is a particularly wonderful shade of vomit-green. He wipes off his makeup in the cracked mirror and hardly spares the bare bedroom a glance. He thinks the walls look pink and doesn't have the energy to deal with that right now.

He stretches out onto the couch and sinks into its lumpy cushions, closing his eyes and preparing for sleep.

***

"Hiya!"

"HOLY MOTHER OF—"

Virgil jumps three feet in the air, scrambles so that his back is pressed to the edge of the couch, and grabs a chopstick off the table, brandishing it towards the voice.

"Who goes there?"

Virgil mentally face palms at his gut reaction.

He's spending too much time around Roman.

"Sorry, kiddo! I didn't mean to scare you!" The voice is filled with way to much cheeriness for this early in the morning.

Virgil's eyes finally adjust to the darkness and he blinks a few times in disbelief at the man standing—no, floating (what actual the hell) in front of him.

He appears to be translucent and glows a light blue (what the actual fucking hell). He looks kind of similar to Virgil, if Virgil wore glasses, had an curly hair, and was covered in freckles. He gives off a kind vibe but that's really not the point.

"What the hell," Virgil chokes out as he waves the chopstick at the man threateningly, hiding the other one behind his back in case he gets attacked, "are you?"

"Well, I'm so glad you asked," he beamed, placing a hand on his chest and rising up a few inches, "My name is Patton, and I'm a ghost!"

"What—"

"Don't worry, I'm not like other ghosts, I won't try to hurt you or anything. But it'd be nice if you'd refrain from trying to harm me, please? The last guy was pretty mean. I just want to make friends, you know?"

"Frie—"

"But I think we might just get along! We already have so much in common! You were wearing makeup, and I wore makeup. You're wearing purple and I love purple. Though, you and you're friends—who I would love for you to introduce me to—seem partial to Chinese. You see, I'm more of a ghoulash kind of guy."

"Did you seriously just make a—"

"Anyways I really, really, really hope you want to be friends with me because I love talking to people but I can only do it in this apartment!"

Virgil gapes at the ghost—Patton—who is bent over with his hand out as if he wants to shake hands.

"What the–how do you–what even–arghh," Virgil puts his hands up against his forehead and rubs it, really hoping he can wake up now, "I'm going to need a minute to process this."

Patton, the actual goddamn friendly ghost, tucks one foot behind the other and leans back in an imaginary chair, "Take all the time you need, sweetheart. I know this can be tough to grasp."

Virgil weakly growls, "Don't call me sweetheart," as he tries to stop panicking.

"Of course, of course," Patton reassures quickly, "You're looking a little blue there, kiddo," The ghost hovers over to Virgil tentatively, "Are you okay?"

"Mm—fine," Virgil gasps.

"Okay, listen to my voice—Virgil, right?"

Virgil nods shakily.

"Okay, breath in."

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"Now hold it."

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

"Out slowly now. You're doing great."

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

They continue like this for a couple minutes, Patton talking in his comforting voice and Vigil following his instructions. Finally, Virgil gains enough courage to say something, trying not to think about how bizarre this whole situation is.

"Okay, Patton," he starts with a robotic voice, "I understand that you want to make friends. I really do. You remind me of someone I know in that regard. But, I need a while before I will get used to you because I'm still half convinced I'm dreaming right now, so just—please give me some space to accept you're existence."

"Of course," Patton repeats with a smile, "Call me whenever you're ready and I'll be there. But remember the breathing exercises, okay? If you feel sick, I can help you with them. I've been told I can be in emotional boo-ster in times of need."

Virgil stares at this ghost who is pretending to be his therapist and is making dad jokes. He has nothing to say.

"I'm going to leave you to it, kiddo. Sleep tight," Patton giggles as he sinks into the floor, stopping mid-way to say, "Oooh, one more thing! I heard you're friend talking about remodeling the apartment. Could you try to leave the couch, please? Unless, of course, you absolutely need a new one, in which case, buy away! It just carries a few memories with it. I'll see you whenever you're ready to talk, Virgil! Toodles!"

In a poof, he disappears into the carpet.

Virgil, still moderately dumbfounded, just mouths the word 'toodles' two or three times. Finally he decides he'll think about all this another day and lays back down on the couch, after hastily sending a haphazard text to Roman.

***

**To: Prince of Your Dreams**   
**From: Spicy Emo Boi**   
**Sent at 4:54 AM**

**Hey Ro, u can hold off on buying the new couch for now**


	2. Virgil the Antisocial Hermit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a week since Virgil's beliefs were thrown off the rails, and Patton has a request for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant to be a one shot but I have so many ideas, so here you go (also I encourage you to tell me if there are spelling or grammar mistakes!)

Virgil wakes up with a rare twinkle in his eye and a spring in his step. 

It's been a week since he moved into the ratchet apartment, and things are going uncharacteristically well by his standards. Logan worked his magic and got permission for them to renovate the apartment, allowing the three to make some necessary changes. 

Roman has been heading the interior design and keeping Logan from making the walls a boring shade of grey ("We don't want people thinking he's as mundane as you, Sir-Reads-a-Lot"). They ended up settling on a purple that matches Virgil's hair, which is fine, but Virgil worries that it's too striking for the walls, just as he'd worried back when he dyed his hair. Roman assured him it's nothing compared to what he plans to do to him and Logan's place, which is slightly concerning, but Virgil didn't ask and Roman didn't elaborate.

Tomorrow, some random people that Logan found using his Internet prowess are going to re-do the carpeting so that it doesn't look like someone steamrolled it in mud. Before they start, Virgil needs to check and make sure Roman didn't instruct anyone to make his flooring magenta, or anything close to it. Logan wasn't careful enough last time the three went on a renovation spree, resulting in Roman's room having a ridiculously fluffy crimson carpet in his room. They keep that particular door closed whenever guests are over, as Virgil swears on his life that there's a family of sadistic cockroaches residing underneath the sea of tufts. 

As of two days ago, Virgil purchased (with much unwanted instruction from Logan) a bed and mattress. He was not aware there are so many important factors in "selecting the optimal resting space", but he allowed Logan to give his in-depth advice. It has sleek black framing (like Virgil's soul) and purple sheets and pillows (per Roman's aggressive requests that Virgil stick to his "aesthetic"). 

Evidently, it's been a tiring week, so Virgil is more pumped than ever to do absolutely nothing for the next twenty-four hours. 

He sets his phone to silent with a joyous whistle, snatches a bag of chips from the cupboard, and flops lazily onto the couch, preparing to relax. He wiggles into the most comfortable position he can manage, which is about as nice as laying on a pile of grainy sand.

Maybe it'd be easier if this cursed couch wasn't so goddamn uncomfortable. 

Why did he decide to keep it again?

"Hey there, kiddo!"

Oh, yeah. That.

Virgil moans, frustrated at the unwanted attention, and lays an arm over his eyes. He quickly sends a prayer to every god he knows (including, but not exclusive to, Gerard Way and Brendon Urie), pleading for the sudden blue light to dissipate, "I thought you were leaving me alone until I'm ready to deal with you?"

Patton quirks his head to the side and gives a way-too-friendly smile, "Well, to be completely fair, kiddo, you seem pretty used to me by now. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're just putting off talking to me because you're scared to."

Patton looks at him the way a father would when scolding a child, and what's worse is it's making Virgil feel like one. 

Sure, he hasn't really warmed up to the idea of sharing a living space with a ghost, but so far, ignoring the guy has gone pretty well.

After Virgil's little freak-out, Patton took a full two days to even show up again, so he really was beginning to believe he'd dreamed up the whole scenario.

But then the otherworldly man finally payed a visit, and Virgil almost screamed as loud as he did the first time. Patton just sauntered into the living room, humming and emitting that same blue glow from before. Thank God, he didn't try to talk to Virgil, and instead floated right on through the wall, eyes closed happily, as if he didn't even notice the emo in the corner silently going into cardiac arrest. Virgil then considered the possibility that he was a hallucination rather than a dream (honestly, he hasn't ruled that out completely, maybe he should consult Logan), but is one-hundred percent sure that he is not this creative. Not even Roman has an imagination worthy of Patton the Friendly Ghost Who Apparently Doesn't Understand the Concept of Calmly Coexisting Without Ever Becoming More Than Acquaintances (The second half is the title of Virgil's self-help book that he hasn't started writing yet, but has big plans for).

For the whole week, Patton has been parading around wearing a genuine grin and curious eyes, and Virgil's secretly starting to feel bad for ignoring the guy. He has absently thought about striking up a conversation a couple times (once while the man was creepily looming over his shoulder as Virgil made a sandwich and once when he was on the phone with Roman, who is unsurprisingly bad at giving instructions on how to put together a table).

"Avoiding your problems won't fix them, kiddo!"

However, Virgil is not in any way equipped for Patton to initiate the interaction. Just as he has never been prepared for any human interaction of any kind, ever (well, a ghost technically isn't a human, so he shouldn't have to worry, right? Maybe spectral beings don't apply to anxiety?).

Unfortunately, Patton doesn't seem to care as he rambles on, "Virgil, I just want you to know that I would never be talking to you like this if I thought that you were scared. But all friendships take a little getting used to, and I would hate for a little pre-best-friend jitters get in the way of ours even starting! I just don't see why you have to keep pretending I don't exist. It's definitely not very," he takes a dramatic pause and sticks out his bottom lip, "—Well I hate to say this, but it's definitely not cool beans." 

And for some godforsaken reason, that comment is what starts to make Virgil feel guilty.

Virgil sits up with a grunt and digs his palms into his eyes before opening them slowly, "Okay. Sorry, just needed to clarify that Roman didn't slip anything into my orange juice," he clears his throat, "Not to be offensive, Patton, since you seem very, very nice. But I've been avoiding you because—well, you know." He waves his arms in his general direction.

"You know?" Patton urges him earnestly, obviously not knowing.

"Well—you are a ghost, and it's a bit unusual. So..." Virgil trails off. That covers the basics, to be honest. Virgil expects him to be off-put, but he should've known better. He's beginning to wonder if this guy even has negative emotions at all. Maybe it's some sort of ghost thing?

"Of course, whatever concerns you may have are completely valid! I understand that there are stereotypes when it comes to us. There certainly are a handful of bad apples in the spectral community, " Patton flaps his hands reassuringly, "but I'm one of the nice ones! Promise! Most of the ghosts I've met are the most adorable little munchkins you'll ever meet!"

"I'm sure they are," Virgil mutters, unconvinced, "And what do you mean other gho—"

"They're adorable and sweet and I will fight you on that," Patton says cheerfully (or was it threateningly?) through gritted teeth, "And sure there are other ghosts, silly! Why—you live near one of the only places in the state with an a-boo-ndance of us! In fact, I'm surprised you haven't met one of them before."

"You mean there are a lot of ghosts here?" Virgil eyes the walls suspiciously, wishing he hadn't thrown away his chopsticks.

"Well, not in these apartments. The closest one to here haunts the Mattress Empire just down the street—"

Virgil wrinkles his nose. What kind of ghost haunts a mattress store?

"—And five of my closest friends live in the Flicker Mall! Isn't it wonderful that I died near so many other ghosts? I haven't spoken with them in ages, though, and they hardly interact with humans. They must get uber-bored, the poor things. I feel terrible for them. At least I get to talk to one of you guys a couple times a year," Patton deflates a little, sinking towards the floor, "but most of you high-tail out of here pretty quickly after meeting little-old-me."

Virgil inhales sharply, because uh-oh: emotions.

Patton seems to realize that he lost his bright disposition and perks up immediately, "But enough about my problems! I've decided that I'm going to help you get used to me, so that we can finally become friends!" His smile grows a bit with every word and it's hurting Virgil's head (because how can someone, who presumably died here in this apartment, be so painfully happy?).

But Patton's face dims slightly as he says, "However, if you really don't want me here, I won't bother you anymore," his voice is much softer now and his glow seems to be more translucent than usual, "I can disappear in a second if you want me to," He becomes fully invisible for a moment, giggling half-heartedly, "Neat-o trick, right? An old friend of mine taught me how. I didn't think it would come in so much handy until I met the first tenant. But, if you wanna give me a chance," his voice is lighter now, "it's not like I have any human friends that I can access."

Virgil vaguely remembers saying something along those lines to Logan and Roman the other day.

"So?" Patton glides closer, with a hopeful look on his freckled face, "What do you say, kiddo? Friends?"

Virgil blankly stares him in the eye, preparing to let the guy down as easy as possible (this is just getting too weird for him, okay? Roman was the same way when they met, but at least he's able to actually make physical contact with his friends). 

Virgil's decided. He is not going to get involved with any ghosts, and that is final.

But then he thinks back to their first meeting.

He thinks of Patton's soothing voice coaxing Virgil through his breathing exercises.

He thinks of Patton's very human attachment to the trodden couch in the living room (Virgil often found him hovering near it throughout the past week) and how there's probably some backstory there.

He thinks of Patton talking with such great anticipation about being Virgil's new friend, but then leaving as soon as he seemed uncomfortable.

But mostly, he thinks about how lonely Patton much be. 

How easy must it be to hurt someone so quick to trust as him? How fast do people sprint in the opposite direction when he lovingly introduces himself? How many times has he been rejected? Virgil feels lonely sometimes, but at least he has Logan and Roman to convince him that they've always got his back no matter what ("We're just like the three musketeers, Virgil! Oh! And we shan't forget the stunning Lady and Lord Kline!"). Who does Patton have?

Damn this dude for making his tiny heart bleed. 

"All right," Virgil grumbles.

Patton flies into the air and does a speedy loop-de-loop of pure joy, "Yes! I swear I won't let you down, kiddo! I'm going to be the best friend you've ever—"

"But," Virgil holds up a finger, attempting to keep a strong demeanor, despite how tooth-rotting-ly sweet this is getting (he is so going to regret this, because he doesn't think he'll be able to maintain an argument with sweet, innocent Patton), "There are going to be a few rules."

"Sure, whatever you say, goes," Patton says sincerely, lowering himself and crossing his legs as to listen to Virgil like a child would his teacher, "Fire away kiddo."

Though a bit squeamish under the ghost's attentive gaze, Virgil continues, "Right—Well, rule number one. Don't sneak up on me when I'm making food. I almost impaled myself a knife when you waltzed through the kitchen in the middle of me making a sandwich."

Patton cocks his head, "But weren't you using a butter knife?"

Pink tinges Virgil's cheeks, "That's not the point! As a matter of fact, don't sneak up on me at all. Just to save me from any injury."

"You got it, boss! As long as you aren't making my favorite, boo-berry pie, I'll make sure to approach you slow and st—"

"Rule number two," Virgil's says in what is starting to become fond exasperation (Lord help him, when did that happen? He's only known this guy for a week. It took a whole year for Virgil to find Roman anything other than extremely annoying), "No more ghost puns."

Patton gasps at that, setting his hands on his hips, "Well, I can try my best on that one, kiddo. But don't get your hopes up."

"Number three," he continues, knowing full well that number two is not going to change anything, "Can you not appear when my friends are over for now? I might introduce you to them—don't look so excited, It's just a maybe—sometime in the future. We'd definitely need to start with Roman though. I think you'll cause Logan to have an existential crisis."

Patton giggles, obviously not paying much attention now, instead gazing into the distance with a giddy smile on his face, "We wouldn't want that, now would we?"

"Patton," Virgil snaps his fingers, "You listening?"

Patton flips himself forward so that he's completely upside down, "I'm paying attention as best I can, kiddo, but I'm just so excited that you actually want to be my friend! Only one other person agreed to that, and he left after four months."

Virgil tries not to feel saddened at that.

"Well, I don't think I'm leaving anytime soon, so you're stuck with me," Virgil quiets towards the end of this statement.

Patton's expression softens and he hovers a few feet forward. His glow dims a little bit and he slowly wraps his arms around Virgil, who is sat straight as a ruler. It's an odd sensation. Virgil doesn't feel anyone touching him, but warmth fills his insides as if it were Roman or Logan's embrace.

Virgil unintentionally lets out a content sigh. He relaxes for what seems to be the first time in a week (why is this hyperactive ghost helping so much with his anxiety?).

Patton smiles as easily as he always seems to and brushes a hand through (literally, just straight through) Virgil's shoulder, "Trust me, kiddo, I'll never get bored of you." It's the most serious he's been in the short time Virgil's known him.

Attempting to show his gratitude at that statement, Virgil pulls his lips into a tight grin that closely resembles a seizing animal. Patton lets out a startled laugh.

"That's the spirit! See, I told you I'm an emotional boo-ster!"

Virgil lays his hands over his eyes, "Rule number two, Patton—Oh my God, what are you doing—I'm adding another rule: no jazz hands under any circumstances or for any reaso—No, stop it! I'm embarrassed and there is literally no one else here right now!"

As he tosses a pillow at Patton, Virgil realizes that this might not be as bad as he originally thought.

He never thought he'd say this (in any context, like, ever) but he's going to give this ghost a chance.


	3. Makeup and Hairdye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil's starting to warm up to the peppy ball of happiness that is Patton. But is he willing to confess one of his fears to his newfound friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I made more! I didn't procrastinate! Are you proud? Anyways, this is going to be the point in this story where I start to incorporate some darker tones so:
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of violence and homophobia
> 
> As usual, comment if there is a mistake in the writing and/or something doesn't make sense

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"I said no, Patton—and if I turn around and you're pointing to the cherries, I will literally move out of this apartment."

"...Don't turn around."

Virgil sighs and piles the groceries into the fridge, thoroughly done with Patton. He's supposed to meet Roman in an hour and he hasn't left the house in three days (he won't admit it, but he feels bad about leaving Patton alone. So what if Logan and Roman think he's become a hermit? Let's be honest, it's not like that's anything new), so he needs to attempt to make himself look presentable. He doesn't need Roman recommending beauty regimens like the last time they went out when it was just the two of them. Although, he'd be showered and driving on his merry way to their usual lunch restaurant, if a certain someone wasn't insisting on helping him get ready. 

The ghost's voice suggests that he's donned the deadly puppy-dog face, so Virgil keeps his back turned as Patton asks, "But why not?" 

"Because, we both know that you'll turn my face into something Roman would wear, and there is not a single thing on this earth that I want less than that."

"But Virgil..."

"There is no way in hell you will be doing my makeup! And, side note, how would that even work? In case you haven't noticed, you cannot make physical contact with me." He gesticulates wildly in the general direction of his newfound spectral friend.

"I could guide your hands for you, and to makeup for it, I won't bother you when you meet Logan this eveni—"

"For the last time, no!" Virgil finally turns back with a fierce huff (It may seem odd how much he's fighting this, but he hates the thought of being in public with a full face of makeup on. Imagine all the people who will ridicule him. He already gets enough comments with his daily eyeliner, and he doesn't want to end up like Roman, who has more than a few bruises from bigoted idiots who see his lipstick like a bull sees red).

He catches Patton's fleeting buoyant expression just as it falls into a neutral one, (which, from what Virgil can tell, neutral is the Patton equivalent of screaming and setting things on fire) eliciting a very unwelcome spike of guide to rear its head in Virgil's chest. The blue glow illuminating the otherwise pitch black kitchen fades by about thirty percent.

"Now, Virgil, there's no need to lash out at me like that," Patton chides softly, crossing his arms while seeming to realize that Virgil's refusal goes deeper than he thought.

Virgil deflates at the fatherly tone, hunching over and wringing out his hands (strange, he hasn't done this since before accepting Patton's binding friendship pact), "You're right. I'm sorry."

He retreats back into himself, avoiding any eye contact, and unconsciously reverting into his public persona (God, look what he's done, snapping at Patton. He doesn't deserve any of Virgil's crap. What if the ghost decides that he doesn't want to stay here anymore? They've only really been talking for three days but Virgil's enjoyed the company, despite what he says. Oh God, what if—)

"Virgil."

Virgil raises his eyes as Patton hovers his blueish hands atop Virgil's and starts breathing loudly and deliberately. His friend inhales and exhales slowly, weirding Virgil out a little until he recognizes the pattern from the day they met. He begins mimicking the exercises and, eventually, a calming warmth expands in his chest and to his fingertips (He honestly can't tell if he's imagining the feeling, or if Patton has some magical feel-good ghost powers that are turning Virgil into a sap). 

"I'm sorry," Virgil repeats his previous statement, shame still tainting the edges of his brain.

"No, no, no, kiddo," Patton's glow brightens with worry, "There is absolutely no need for you to apologize. I should be saying sorry for pushing so hard. I didn't even think that there might be a reason for your reluctance."

"It's a stupid reason," Virgil murmurs.

"Now, you listen to me, Virgil. It's only stupid in your head. I'm sure the reasoning, whatever it may be, is perfectly precedented," Patton motions to the living room and asks carefully, "If it's all right with you, would you be up to telling me why exactly this is so hard for you to do?"

Virgil nods his head shakily (God, why is he like this? It's just makeup) and heads over to the dusty green couch, which has become an unlikely spot for the residents of the apartment to talk (Virgil's noticed that Patton spends most of his time near the couch, only leaving it whenever Virgil does. He can't understand why, because if it was up to him, the thing would be thrown into a ditch and torched).

"Okay, Virge," Patton settles himself on the arm rest, lowering his glow, "What's bothering you?"

Virgil grunts and starts, "It's just—it sounds stupid," he pauses, but upon seeing Patton's encouraging look, he feels a small (and unfamiliar) seed of confidence take root and takes a deep breath, "You know Roman, right?"

Patton looks surprised, "Of course, you're meeting with him today at that local Mexican place you love. And how could I not, with how often you gush about him and Logan?"

"Okay—and I do not gush, shut up—were you paying attention to his arms when he dropped me off last week?"

"I think they were covered up by his stylin' jacket. Now that is a man who understands fashion."

"Don't let him hear you say that, his head is big enough as is," Virgil mutters, "Anyways, he likely wore it on purpose so that unwanted bystanders didn't see the bandages."

"Bandages?" Patton's expression immediately does a one-eighty, face turning stormy in a way Virgil's never seen on him before. Somehow, he manages to keep that perpetual smile on while still looking ready to fight anyone who dared hurt Roman. Virgil offhandedly wonders why Patton is so protective of someone he's never been introduced to. Not even Logan has looked quite that scary on any of the occasions Roman has come home all banged up.

"Yeah," Virgil says sadly, "He tends to get roughed up a lot."

"Why on earth would anyone want to hurt that poor kiddo? He's such a sweetheart!" Patton cries, distressed. His eyes fill with wisp-like tears that seem to be a condensed version of the rest of his translucent body.

"Apparently that doesn't matter. As long as he's wearing lipstick and blush, some sick homophobe is going to, and I quote, 'put that little fairy in his place'," Virgil spits out, biting back the usual reflex to punch something that he gets when talking about Roman's scuffles, "And he hardly fights back. He claims that he's better than them—and he is, one Roman is worth a hundred of those heartless scumbags—so he just defends himself when necessary and does his best not to hurt them too bad. Logan and I try to walk or drive him home from work, but nurses can work pretty irregular hours sometimes. Those days are the worst. You should've seen him a month ago—God, he had to have one of the other nurses bandage his back because he couldn't reach it himself. Logan has been discreetly asking to have dinner with him as often as possible, just to keep an eye on him. But when neither of us are there, the only other solution would be for him to not wear makeup at all, but—"

"Then it wouldn't be Roman," Patton finishes, understanding.

"Exactly," Virgil states fondly, "And he's fine with suffering if it means he can be himself."

"He's so brave," Patton expresses, his luminescent tears floating to the ground much slower than normal tears would, "I hardly ever got to wear makeup when I was alive. I spent too much time trying to conceal my true self, but I'm so pumped that people are finally starting to show their true colors to the world! This Roman of yours is a true modern hero."

"Indeed he is," Virgil murmurs. Roman and Virgil got off to a pretty rough start when they met through Logan, but the flamboyant nurse has grown on him like an unusually persistent leech. 

"I'll stop bugging you about the makeup now," Patton says as he levitates off the couch, "I'm sure my incessant buzzing is starting to get annoying."

"No!" Virgil yells a bit too quick, startling Patton as he's halfway into the wall.

"Is there somethin' else, kiddo?" the ghost inquires, seeming worried (man, how does he care so much? It seems so exhausting).

"Well," Virgil clears his throat, "That was really thoughtful of you—and, if you're still up for it, you could do my makeup? Maybe—if you want to?" (Please don't let this turn out badly. Please).

"Really?" He sinks fully back into the room, eyes wide as saucers. The beginnings of his signature grin start to form on his face.

"Yeah, but just eye makeup okay? Nothing too extravagant." (Why did he think this was a good idea? Who knows what Patton has in store for him?)

He glances at Patton who is shaking with either anticipation or terror.

"Patton, if you don't want to anymore that's perfectly fine by me. I was skeptical about it anywa—"

"Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!" Patton bounds into the air and flies speedily towards the bathroom. Virgil stumbles his way after the hyperactive ghost, scared for what he may select from the sink countertop. He opens the door and immediately starts vetoing ideas.

"No, back away from the electric blue. I'm pretty sure that Roman planted that in my bathroom sink in hopes that I'd accidentally pick it up instead of my eyeliner. As if I'd be that idiotic—No, Neon yellow is also not an option, Patton. I want a natural look. N-A-T-U-R-A-L."

"Okiedokie, kiddo."

"Oh God, why did I agree to thi—I didn't know I had green mascara?! Where did you find that?"

"There's no need for that long face! I know, without eye-shadow of a doubt, that this will turn out beautifully. Because, you are beautiful—inside and out!"

"Stop complimenting me. It's making me uncomfortable."

"I will emotionally fight you."

"Is that pink eyeliner? Where is all of this coming from?!"

***

"Sweet mother of Harry Styles! Is that you, Virgil?"

Virgil stuffs his hands into the endless depths of his hoodie pocket and slides noiselessly into the small booth.

"Yes, Roman," he sighs, keeping his head ducked, "How bad is it?"

Roman raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow, "It's not bad at all. In fact, quite the opposite—why it's exquisite! Did you do that yourself?"

"Technically, yes."

"Technically? I have been trying to get you to apply something other than eyeliner for the better half of the last two years! Whoever are you cheating on me with?" Roman swoons dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest.

"Nobody," Virgil insists with a shrug, "Just watched some tutorial videos on YouTube."

Virgil gazes at his reflection in the window.

It had taken a lot of convincing from Patton for Virgil to wear anything other than black with an extra layer of black. Patton was very interested in using an alarmingly bright shade of gold that would require Virgil to stick a seizure warning to his back. The two managed to come to a consensus with a more subtle metallic silver that now coats the entirety of Virgil's eyelids. The eyeliner was much trickier, as Virgil has never really gone for the sharp cat-eye look (the lines are much bigger than originally intended, due to a plethora of clumsy mistakes along with the time crunch. If he didn't know any better, he'd say Patton was guiding his hand astray on purpose). And, to Payton's delight and Virgil's dismay, he reluctantly applied a single coat of mascara.

"Tutorial videos did not create that," Roman says, unbelieving, "When I follow tutorial videos, it results in a hot mess, and you're even worse at following directions than I am, so there is no way you created that masterpiece. Unless, like me, you have fabricated your very own makeup regimen, and don't need any tutorials. After all, all of this genius," he gestures to his crimson lips and brown-shadowed eyes, "is straight from this genius," he points to his head.

"You got me, Roman," Virgil deadpans, "I woke up today and suddenly knew how to do a perfect cat-eye. This all comes straight from my heart."

"Don't mock me," Roman orders amicably.

"Calm down, Mariah," Virgil puts his hands up, "I wasn't mocking you at all. I genuinely taught myself how to do this."

Roman narrows his eyes, "Sure you did, Fall Out Boy."

"What, you don't think I could do this on my own?"

Roman gasps, "I never said that!"

"Didn't need to."

"Oh, get over it. You're just jealous that you don't possess the masterful art skills that I—"

"Pardon me? Are you two ready to order?"

They snap their heads to the shy looking waitress who has obviously been standing there for a while now. 

Roman coughs, "Yes, of course."

Virgil descends into the his hoodie, embarrassed. Only Roman can make him banter so intensely that he doesn't notice anyone else.

Hopefully, he forgets about the makeup and doesn't pry anymore.

***

How did Virgil end up here?

Walking to the car should be a simple task. He should've known Roman would screw it up somehow.

By the power of Roman's impulsiveness and bad decision making, the two are currently sitting in a hair salon, picking a color for Roman to dye his hair.

"I cannot believe you're doing this," Virgil repeats a phrase that is starting to become used way too often in his life.

"Come on, Virgil! Have a sense of adventure!" Roman declares his fingers landing on a scarlet shade of red, "What about this one?"

"Everything you own is red." Virgil pulls at his sleeves, eyeing a clamoring group of teenagers just outside the window.

"It's for my aesthetic," Roman holds the color up to his hair, "Oooh, what about this blue?"

"Do you own any blue clothing?"

"Hmm, good point. Green?"

Virgil shivers, thinking of the hideous couch that he is the unfortunate owner of, "God, no."

"Yellow?"

"Eh, it's kind of bright isn't it?"

"I know!" Roman blurts suddenly, "I don't know why I didn't think of this before."

"Why? What is it?" Vigil asks, more than a little terrified. When Roman gets like this, things can go very, very wrong (refer to: The Great Car Accident of 2016 and The Time Roman Idiotically Challenged Logan to a Prank War). 

Roman throws his arms out dramatically and calls out, "Hello? Hairdresser? I'm ready to begin the process."

He puts a hand to his ear as if someone asked him a question, "What's that? What colors do I desire? Why, I'm honored at the inquiry!"

"Get on with it, Hamilton."

"This prince," he places his arms in an 'X' across his chest in typical Roman fashion, "Is going full rainbow."

Virgil sighs.

Of course he is.

He tries to look on the bright side: maybe this is all worth it, because Logan is going to be absolutely livid when Roman gets back.


	4. Astute Observations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil is noticing some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! From now on, just assume that you are encouraged to correct grammar stuff in the comments.

Virgil is starting to turn into Logan.

And by that, he means that he's speculating like a conspiracy theorist on steroids. Because how has he not wondered about any of this before? 

You see, it's been about a month-and-a-half since the day that Patton so thoughtfully revealed himself to Virgil, and questions are beginning to arise.

For example, how exactly does one become a ghost? Are there certain qualifications? Do you need to have the Heavenly Rewards Member Card?

Or, you know, how did Patton die? (Virgil's unsure if this is taboo in the ghost community, if one eve exists, but it could come off as insensitive, so he thinks he'll wait for Patton to open up on his own).

And why, pray tell, does he have an unhealthy obsession with the probably—no, scratch that—most definitely maggot infested couch in the living room? For a guy that knows how to do makeup that can rival Roman's, Patton lacks in his interior design abilities. This is coming form Virgil, who's room is essentially just grey walls, band posters, and empty food wrappers.

Lastly, there's that memory thing that he's been meaning to comment about. 

'The memory thing' becomes apparent on a Tuesday evening, as Virgil is headed off to the Kline household to have dinner with Logan and his family. Including Roman, of course (Though Virgil met the other two fairly recently, Logan and Roman have been well-acquainted since their teenage years. The Kline family lovingly took Roman in when his father was thrown into jail for a number of highly-punishable crimes and his mother took off, paranoid of her ex-husband discovering where she lived. From the stories that Virgil's heard way too many times, Logan and Roman were far from besties in the first few years of knowing each other. Allegedly, the infamous prank war, which ultimately led to a friendship, lasted for six months straight. There was never a declared winner).

Virgil is hastily tossing on his iconic purple hoodie, him and Patton deep in a stimulating conversation. 

"I understand where you're coming from, kiddo, but I have to say: I do not agree."

As he opens the door, Virgil narrows his eyes, "Bullshit, Sirius Black was by far the bravest man Harry ever knew. I know he named his firstborn after him, but anything is better than," he grimaces, "Albus Severus."

"And I do agree with you," Patton muses, shining brightly, "Albus Severus is a seriously concerning name choice."

"But..?" Virgil waves his hands in a circular motion, disregarding the frankly unoriginal pun.

"But, I'd wager that Remus Lupin was the bravest man he ever knew."

Virgil locks the door aggressively, "Lupin was an awesome Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, but Sirius was his godfather. He was family!"

"Ooh!" Patton exclaims and Virgil can almost see the lightbulb illuminate above his head.

"What?" Virgil questions as the stroll down the hallway.

Patton snaps his fingers, wearing a giddy grin, "I almost forgot about Dobby!"

Virgil groans, "I see your point, Patton. But how, might I ask, is Dobby any better than Albus Severus?"

"That's true. Golly, Virgil, you're almost out Harry-Potter-ing me," Patton says while throwing a good-natured smile.

Virgil snorts, "Well, if you think I'm knowledgeable about the subject, you should see Roman debate about it. I don't think I've met another person so sure that Harry and Draco were participating consistent sexual escapades starting in sixth year. Thank God, Logan doesn't participate in our wizarding discussions, because it's annoyingly impossible to win an argument with him."

He waits for Patton's response. However, instead there's a silence that stretches on for longer than Virgil is comfortable with.

"Patton?" Virgil worriedly asks, inspecting his friend.

His eyes appear to be glazed over (or more so than usual, considering that he's, well—a ghost) and he's stopped hovering behind Virgil. His mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish, as if he's trying to say something, but can't find the words.

Finally, he speaks, his eyebrows knitting together is befuddlement, "Logan?"

Virgil's eyes widen considerably. 

"Logan? You know, one of my best friends? His father's a tailor, his mother's a nurse, and he lives with Roman?"

He continues to stare.

"He's, like, really smart?"

Recognition flashes in his eyes, "Logan! Of course! Sorry, isn't it funny how some of the most important details slip my mind sometimes?"

"Yeah," Virgil eyes him warily, "hilarious."

They reach the elevator and Patton claps his hands together a little too quickly, "Anyways, I'll see you later tonight, kiddo! Make sure to have fun, and thank Mr. Kline for the meal. As you've said before," he titters, "his food is to die for, right?"

Of course, the obligatory ghost pun.

Virgil presses the 'close door' button on the elevator, watching Patton shoot him finger guns and cringing.

As the doors close fully, Virgil reflects on that entire conversation, uneasiness nesting in his stomach. 

Virgil spends a lot of his free time with Patton relaying the stories of how he met his friends and came to know them as he does now. Patton eagerly listens, often on his favorite couch cushion (the one on the left with the hot chocolate stain, not the one on the right with the coffee one). He always pesters Virgil into spilling as many details about them as possible. If anything, he's more interested in them that Virgil himself is sometimes.

So, with all of his curious enthusiasm, what exactly could have led to Patton forgetting who Logan is?

***

"Lord, bless this food that has been so graciously put in front of us today. Bless this wonderful family ours," Mrs. Kline places a welcoming hand over Virgil's, "and bless Virgil, who is finally settling into his new apartment. May the adjustment process be clean and easy. Amen."

"Amen," voices echoes from each corner of the table.

"Now," Roman begins, adjusting his hand-knit beanie (probably done by Mr. Kline) and rubbing his hands together, "shall we eat?"

"Patience, dear," Mrs. Kline fondly scolds Roman, "Gerry, would you go fetch the rest of the wonderful meal you prepared for us?"

Mr. Kline pushes out his seat, "Of course, hon."

"I will assist," Logan immediately says, catching his mother's eye.

"I can help too, if you'd like, Mrs. Kline?" Virgil offers awkwardly (he's never quite caught on to how he's supposed to act in these kind of situations).

"There's no need for that, sweetie," she shakes her head at him, causing her jet black hair to shine under the dining room's amber lighting, "and what have I said about you calling me Mrs. Kline?"

Blush creeps up his cheeks and he mumbles, "It makes you feel old. Sorry."

"Sorry...?" She urges him forward with a expression as sweet as honey (oddly, her blunt kindness is reminding him of somebody else that he met recently).

"Sorry, Vanessa."

She winks at him, "Good boy. Roman, why don't you tell Virgil about this past weekend?" Her lips are pursed now, emitting the slightest amount of disapproval.

Roman hangs his head uncharacteristically, "Must I?"

She gives him a look that Virgil remembers well from when his mom was alive.

"Well, if it's absolutely necessary," he puts on his storytelling face, "We must start from the top. Remember Sunday evening?"

Sunday evening?

Virgil quickly hides a snicker behind his hand.

They went out to eat on Sunday evening, which means that this must be about the hair dye.

Roman continues, glaring at him, "Evidently, you do remember."

Virgil nods, now anticipating the rest of this story (he called Roman yesterday to ask how everyone took the sudden color swap, but he had refused to spill anything).

"Well, the walk home was uneventful. I only slayed three homophobes with my eyeliner instead of four like last time."

Virgil rolls his eyes (Roman's 'slaying' usually entails him performing a number of ridiculous acts that's only purpose are confusion and/or chaos. Virgil's favorite instance was when he put on his favorite wig and did a spontaneous drag performance in the middle of a Whole Foods. He loved it for three reasons. One, it was one of the funniest things Roman's done to date. Two, believe it or not, the performance itself was stunning. Seriously, Virgil didn't know people could bend that way. And, most satisfying of all, is that one of the homophobes that Roman was dancing for didn't realize that he wasn't a woman, and proceeded to ask him out. He said yes, but that's a story for another time).

"When I got home, I threw on this beanie," he points to the lilac one he's currently wearing, "in order to avoid Logan's impending judgement for a little while longer. But when I arrived, he immediately knew something was awry. I have no idea how, because my poker face is spot on!"

"Debatable," Virgil and Vanessa mutter.

"He pestered me for a while, but I remained strong and did not take it off. But alas, as I was preparing to slumber he knocked at my door to deliver some news—"

"Yes, I did," Logan enters the room stoically, perfectly balancing four spaghetti plates in his arms, "and what was that news, Roman.?"

Roman averts his eyes and mumbles something that sounds like 'big green rumbles cried.'

"Speak up, mumbling makes you sound inarticulate. Not that you aren't inarticulate, but a well-crafted facade can go a long way." 

"You wound me, Logan."

"I only state the facts."

"I said," he enunciates the last word, "his great uncle died."

"Oh!" Virgil exclaims, not expecting this dark turn. He looks shyly at Vanessa, "I'm so sorry."

She brushes him off, "Don't fret, he was very old."

Logan nods, "Extremely old."

Mr. Kline also nods from the doorway, clutching a homemade breadstick in each hand, "Yes, I'm surprised he was was still alive after so long."

"Yes, yes. We understand," Roman drawls, "He was super old."

"Extremely old," Logan echoes again, Virgil giving him a baffled look. 

"Logan then proceeded to tell me that there was a funeral," Roman pauses for dramatic effect," the very next day! I didn't quite understand what that meant for me at first, so I just decided I'd wear the beanie and my stylish suit to the funeral. As we were getting ready, Logan vetoed both of them. I understand the purple hat, but why couldn't I wear my suit? It's the right colors—"

"Just because it's black does not mean the sequins are okay," Logan says disdainfully.

Roman sniffs, "Well, I think it looked perfect."

"You thought wrong."

"Anyways, I was determined not to reveal the hair at this point, so I dug up Logan's brown hat."

"From the Sherlock cosplay?" Virgil asks with smirk, seeing Logan's face redden.

"Sherlock cosplay?" Vanessa asks delightfully.

"Mother, kindly shut up."

"The very same," Roman confirms, "I thought that if I tucked my hair into it, no one would notice the fabulous color work. But, someone," he glowers pointedly at Logan, "decided to blow my cover at the funeral itself."

"He was a veteran," Logan growls, "You don't wear a hat during the ceremony."

"You do if you're hair is rainbow and most of the people attending have hardcore Christian views!"

"How was I supposed to know that your hair was so vibrant?" Logan counters, "Despite what you all might think, I regrettably cannot read minds."

"Get on with it, son," Mr. Kline chimes from the doorway.

"As I was saying, Logan here literally snatched my wig off—"

"It was a hat."

"Resulting in my tremendous locks being revealed to the rest of the group attending! A couple of his second cousins decided to leave some very inconsiderate comments."

"Long story short, Roman got us kicked out of a funeral," Logan finishes.

"Technically, you were the one did the deed, Watson."

"Watso—I'm Sherlock!"

"Who had the hat, Lo?"

"Irrelevant."

"I'm sorry that this happened," Virgil offers to Vanessa, desperately hiding the amusement coursing through his veins.

"Oh, it's fine," Vanessa says, "Don't tell anyone, but I love to see my family put in their place when it comes to people like Roman. At one point in my life, I was ignorant too, but he showed me a whole world that I didn't even know existed."

"I think I know how you feel," Virgil adds as he thinks of Patton.

Roman huffs, "Now, if we've finished laughing at my expense—"

"We're never done doing that." 

"—Shut up, Virgil. You too, Logan."

"I think what Roman is trying to say," Mr. Kline says, setting down his knitting needles that he's been fiddling with, "is: Let's eat."

"Hallelujah," Roman praises.

***

"Patton, I'm home!"

Vigil unlocks the door and enters apartment, which is slowly but surely becoming a home to him.

"Virgil!" Patton speeds into through the wall, grinning ear to ear, "how was lunch?"

"Dinner," Virgil corrects, "but it was as cheerful as ever."

"How was the food? Ooh, and Mr. and Mrs. Kline? And Roman, and," He trails off suddenly, pausing for a second before slowly saying, "Logan."

Hiding his concern Virgil answers, "The food, as usual, did not disappoint. Mr. and Mrs. Kline were fine—"

Patton giggles, "That rhymed."

"Astute observation. Roman and Logan told me about how they were kicked out of a funeral."

Patton's eyes widen, "Really? What are those crazy kids getting up to now?"

"Well it has to do with Roman's hair."

"Do tell."

Virgil relays the story to an excited Patton, mulling over the ghost's subtle forgetfulness in the back of his mind.

***

"Hey, Pat?" Virgil asks late that night as the both of them are perched on the couch in their designated spots, "How much do you know about being a ghost?"

There's an audible inhale.

Patton stiffens and replies with a robotic undertone that Logan often has, "Well, kiddo, not much. And, to be completely truthful with you, I'm not very comfortable talking about what I do know."

Virgil tries to stop his face from falling, but ultimately fails.

Patton's eyes widen sadly, "I'm really sorry, Virgil. If you truly want to know, I can tell you?" he poses this as a question and slaps on an obviously fake grin.

Virgil quickly feels a rush of guilt (why is he acting so selfish? Patton obviously doesn't want to talk about this) and frantically reassures him, "No! If you don't want to discuss it, I respect that!" 

After all, Patton has religiously respected his boundaries. 

"Thanks," Patton smiles his radiant smile, chock-full of all of the sunny emotions in the world (normally Virgil would gag at all of the positive, mushy feelings, but for some reason, he can't bring himself to resent Patton in the slightest).

They settle into a content silence and Virgil switches the new TV on, searching through their shows on Netflix (He's been educating Patton about all the shows he's missed out on, since all of his previous roommates, whom Virgil would like to individually deliver punch in the face to, didn't take any time to get to know him. They started with The Office, which Patton had seen one season of, and then moved on to some other essential shows. So far, they've watched Parks and Rec, Friday Night Lights, Stranger Things and the only good season of Heroes. Now they're sitting through Roman's two favorites: Grey's Anatomy and Glee). He selects an episode and leans back, getting ready for some indiscreet auto tune.

Not five seconds in to the episodes opening number, Patton whispers a soft, "Virgil?"

He pauses the show.

"What's up?" He carefully asks, as Patton seems much more nervous than usual (Being anxious is supposed to be his job, dammnit. How exactly does one go about comforting another human being?). 

"If you want to know more about us," the glow in the room is as dim as Virgil's ever seen it, "there's someone you can talk to."

"Are you okay with this?" Virgil's painfully curious, but he needs to be sure that Patton doesn't mind him knowing.

"Yeah, kiddo," he says, a dash of confidence seeping into his voice, "He's another ghost—the one at the mattress store. You could say he has a real dream job."

"Okay, how do I find this guy?"

"Well, you'll want to go at nighttime, that's when he likes to hang around."

***

Virgil enters the practically empty store.

He wanders through the maze of mattresses, all the way to aisle number six.

He stops and looks around.

(This is where Patton said, right?)

He stands for a minute or two.

(Patton's not pranking him, right?)

"Well," he grumbles, "this was a waste of time and slee—"

"Guuurl, you really need to do something about those under eye bags. Whatever this is, it is not working."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to write this chapter, because I couldn't decide whether to include the ending in it or not. Ultimately, I chose to take that storyline, but writing more is going to take some brainstorming, because I came up with it as I was writing. Anyways, thank you for reading!


	5. The Mattress King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost of Matress Kingdom Aisle Six is apparently a little piece of shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter is unedited as of today (July 24) because I really wanted to post something for y'all. Seriously though, point out bad grammar so I can fix it once I go over everything.

"FUck, Jesus, son of bitch, holy shi—"

"Okay, if you're going to spit profanities at me, I might as well go. I'm honestly feeling attacked right now."

"No! No, just—just give me a second."

(Breathe, Virgil, breathe).

Virgil takes his hands off his knees, remembering Patton's exercises, and absorbs the obscure image in front of him.

Objectively, he is aware that ghost's exist. Patton has stated many times that he has friends that are also undead (though Virgil isn't sure how he met them, as it appears that Patton can't leave the apartment, or even the living room, without experiencing some major mental issues). However, Virgil still has trouble fathoming the creature floating in front of him, less because he's a ghost and more because of the striking fashion sense.

In contrast to the baby blue that Virgil has come to associate with ghosts, this one has more of a greyish-white glow, as if it's mist. It rolls off of him like fog, pooling at his feet. Circular sunglasses adorn his face, his eyes poking out behind them and judging Virgil harshly. He's wearing a leather jacket that probably cost the same amount as his apartment and shoes that definitely cost the same amount as his apartment. And, most noticeably, there are two ginormous golden hoops dangling out of his ears.

In short, he kind of looks like Roman?

Just a little.

"Tick tock, bitch. A ghost has got to haunt and you are not proving to be worth my precious time. So, like, either tell me why you're standing in my aisle, or head back to whatever hellhole you and your makeup artist came from."

And he apparently acts like Roman too. 

And really, if he acts like Roman, Virgil muses that he must be treated like Roman (Virgil was planning on being as emotionally cautious as he is with Patton, who is a literal ball of sunshine. But it seems that this fucker is not similar to the other ghost in any way, shape, or form).

"At least I live in hell, not in-between like you seem to."

The ghost scoffs and throws a hand to his heart, "Low blow, sweetheart. The name's Remy, by the way, not that you bothered to ask. But if you don't sheath the claws and back away from my jugular, I won't give you whatever information you came for."

Virgil raises a taunting eyebrow (he's noticing that sassy people—or ghosts, in this case—really cause his self confident to skyrocket instead of bury itself in a hole like usual. He's known for his high anxiety, but, in the right company, his less polished sides come out of hibernation. Sometimes it's a good thing. Other times it results in him having a piercing where no human should have a piercing. Thankfully, Logan hasn't told Roman about that incident).

"What makes you think I'm here for information?"

Remy's glow brightens mischievously as he asks, "You really don't know anything about me, do you?"

What a cocky S.O.B.

"Enlighten me."

"Sir, yes sir," he mock salutes, "See, not to brag, but I'm kind of a legend among the spectral community—a crossroads demon of sorts. I help ghosts along in exchange for the latest gossip," he Cheshire grins at Virgil, resting his chin on his hands, "I'll cut the facade, though. I want to know who you are. Little old me doesn't get many living visitors these days."

Virgil decides to play along, "What do you want to know?"

"Well, I so kindly introduced myself and it'd be considered quite rude if you didn't either," Remy cocks his head to the side and clasps his hands behind his back, feigning bashfulness. Virgil kind of wants to punch him in he face, but alas, Remy is impermeable so he can only dream.

"It's Virgil."

"Okay, Vermin. Which one of the little devils sent you? Was it the doctor? He sometimes sends people to help 'fix my attitude' as if there's something wrong with it. Or the one with the beanie? He was annoying, but, like, way more informative than anyone else to pass through here. Or was it the—"

"His name is Patton," Virgil interrupts (He tells himself to ignore the nickname. The faster he gets what he needs, the faster he can go take a well-deserved nap. Why is it well-deserved? Mattress Kingdom is petrifying maze of a store. Not everyone makes it out. It took him five minutes to find aisle six, but he's estimating forty for the exit).

"Pat-what now?" 

"Bluish glow? Annoyingly nice? Horrible fashion sense, an obsession with kittens, and ridiculously large round glasses?" Virgil lists (Come on, Patton's pretty hard to forget).

"Glasses?" Remy stops, pondering for a moment before his glow flashes abruptly, "Holy shit, you mean Four-Eyes! It's been like three whole years since I last talked to him. None of the other ghosts have heard from him at all either."

Virgil leans leisurely against the mattress displayed next to him, "About that—how does he know any other ghosts? It seems like he can't exit the apartment, but he's always mentioning everyone else that he knows."

"Sweetheart, there's a lot more to it than that." Remy comments condescendingly.

"As I said, enlighten me." Virgil shoots. He settles himself on top of the mattress (Side note: he thinks this mattress feels amazing, and he may buy it once he has more than fifty bucks in his account).

"As you wish, Daddy—"

Virgil winces, "Yeah, let's not do that."

"Okay, baby. I'm fine with topping if that's how you roll. I can be flexible in both a metaphorical and a physical sense," Remy wiggles his eyebrows sensually, floating dangerously close.

Virgil really needs to introduce this guy to Roman (Actually, Logan too. That would be even funnier).

"Just—back up—please explain," Virgil scoots backwards in slight terror.

"Alright, so: the basics. Ghosts come from dead people."

"Thank you, Sherlock Holmes," Virgil deadpans.

Remy pulls his sunglasses down, "I can literally disappear right now if I want to. Don't test me."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Virgil apologizes reluctantly (albeit sarcastically), since he needs to understand what's been going on with Patton recently.

"Of course, there's a bit of a catch, otherwise there's be like a trillion ghosts wandering the streets, which is far too cluttered. There can only be one ghost haunting Mattress Kingdom aisle number six," Remy declares, obviously proud of his tyranny over the 'sacred aisle'.

"Naturally."

"As far as we know—and by we, I mean me. Do you see anyone else trying to figure this shit out?—there are three solid requirements to becoming a ghost. One," he holds up a finger with a sway and a meaningful glance, "You have to have been murdered in your human life."

Virgil chokes.

(No, no. That can't be right.)

"Yeah, it's pretty crazy," Remy says with a pop to the 'p'.

The ground shifts underneath Virgil and time screeches to a halt (This is only the first requirement and it's already too much to handle. Because—Patton? Light, bubbly Patton is a murder victim? What kind of twisted monster would hurt someone like him? Virgil can't comprehend that, but suddenly, the prospect of severe maiming is oddly appealing. He's read a lot of explicit fanfic in his time, so torture ideas come tremendously quick. This skill has only come in real handy one other time, and then he had Logan to talk sense into him).

Remy hovers higher into the air with a simper, gauging Virgil's reaction, "So old Pat didn't tell you that factoid?"

Virgil swallows, "He did not." 

"Drama," Remy sings happily, holding out the 'a', "Shame. He's not as honest as he appears, is he?"

"It's not like that," Virgil growls, defensive of his friend, "He just isn't comfortable talking about all this ghost related shit."

"Whatever you say, sweetie."

"Get on with it. We're rule number two, in case you have trouble counting that high."

"Ooh, bitch. You need to learn to respect the person supplying you with info. Ooh—That reminds me! We haven't discussed payment yet," Remy rubs his hands together and shakes his head, earrings hitting his neck.

"Payment?"

(Virgil should tell this guy about the fifty bucks in his account. Hopefully, 'payment' can be intangible).

"Remember—crossroads demon? Every relationship requires two. I told you the first rule, free of charge. You're welcome, Vermin. Now we should, like, discuss terms before the scales balance too far in your favor. We can't have you leaving and not coming back, now can we?"

"Why the hell would I come back?" Virgil asks, genuinely curious.

"Because I'm only going to give you one tidbit about ghosts every time you come to see me."

(Every time? How often does Virgil need to interact with Remy the Not-So-Friendly Ghost?)

"The fuck? Why?" he questions accusingly. 

"Back it up, dear. I am a ghost. Believe it or not, I don't get a lot of company, so I'll have to settle with you."

"Settle? I'll have you kno—"

"Of course, we need to arrange the time and place. Does aisle six at 6:00 on Sunday nights work for you? If it doesn't, I'm afraid I'm otherwise booked, so it's all or nothing." Remy checks his nails in detail as he speaks.

(Otherwise booked? He is a ghost who is stuck at Mattress Kingdom the same way Patton is tied to the apartment. What could he possibly be doing? To be honest, Virgil is scared to ask, so he keeps his prying thoughts to himself).

"So, this is going to be a regular thing?" Virgil dreads the answer that he already knows.

"If you want it to be," Remy gives a suggestive head tilt (which, if Virgil attempted, would end up looking like that one girl from The Exorcist).

"I wasn't aware I had a choice."

Remy winks at him and continues, "Anyways, I'm going to need more than just your face, as pretty as that is. Let's talk currency. Would you, by any chance, happen to own the Netflix app?"

Virgil scoffs at the notion that he wouldn't, "Yes, who doesn't? But why is that relevan—"

"Perfect! I think we can make an arrangement. How about, a season of a show is worth a fact about ghosts?"

Virgil takes about ten seconds to process the implications of this statement.

"Hold on, all you want is for me to sit here and watch Netflix with you? "

Remy taps a finger to the tip of his nose.

(Now we're talking. Virgil is certainly down with this).

"Dude, that is literally all I do as of now. I'm cool with coming here to binge, as long as I don't get kicked out of the store."

"Don't worry, there's like a rumor that there's a ghost haunting aisle six, so no one ever comes here."

"I wonder why they say that?"

He smiles innocently and shrugs, "No idea."

"So, if you've got nothing else for me, can I be in my way?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"...Bye?" Virgil offers in a last-ditch civility attempt.

"Toodles, bitch. Remember, six on Sunday. Don't be late." Remy allows a smirk (however, it feels different than the other ones he's given today—more real) to creep onto his face.

Virgil returns the grin, feeling as he did the first time he encountered Roman.

"Right back at you, fucker."

***

Virgil's steps inside the apartment. 

"Patton."

There's a moment of silence.

"Patton!"

Another moment passes.

"PATTON!"

Patton falls through the cracked ceiling and begins to float excitedly in front of Virgil.

"Kiddo! How was the meeting with Remy?" he inquires—ever the mom, reminding Virgil that his is the closest he's ever going to get to a parental figure.

"It was..." Virgil trods into the living room and searches for the right words, "Interesting?"

Patton giggles (he sounds nervous for some reason), "That sounds like him."

"Yeah," Virgil sighs as he sinks into their couch, "he's quite the character."

Virgil yawns spectacularly and begins dozing off. He can sense Patton's comforting presence to his left, glow dim.

He sleeps, dreaming of ways he can earn enough money to buy that mattress.

***

Virgil awakens to an unpleasant and familiar voice, for a moment not fully understanding what he's unwillingly revealed.

"GREAT LORD DICAPRIO! VIRGIL! I believe there is a MONSTER attempting to EAT your SOUL."

Well, fuck.

Roman has a key to his apartment (That he never uses, mind you).

Patton is currently hovering next to him.

Roman can likely see Patton from the doorway.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I want to mention my general update schedule. I'm relatively new to internet writing, so I'm working on a lot of side projects in order get my work out in the open. I will attempt to update this particular work once a week, maybe more often if I have extra time. Also, feel free to leave y'alls opinions on where the storyline is heading. I take that into account when I write!
> 
> Until next time!


	6. A Panicking Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman discovers Patton and is not at all helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. I was having a lot of trouble with the humor in this chapter for some reason. Hopefully it turned out okay? If you laughed, then I'm doing something right

**Previously on PFG:**

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck._

**And now:**

"Roman," Virgil instructs carefully, voice level like he's talking to a lion poised to pounce (which he essentially is), "this isn't what it looks like. Put the chopstick down and enter slowly."

Roman, in the doorway and hands full with Chinese take-out, similar to a lion, does not listen to anything that he just heard, and instead continues mindlessly shrieking like a banshee at poor Patton. It doesn't help that his makeup is particularly vivacious today, to the point that Patton isn't the one in the room who most resembles a ghost (in Roman's defense, nobody else he knows could ever pull of white eyeliner, but that is not the point).

"Dive out of the the way, Virgil! I will rescue you!" Roman raises his fists around the food and takes a fighting stance angled towards Patton, who's glowing exceptionally bright in curious surprise. He levitates just above his designated spot on the couch (which seems to be housing some mold—Virgil should probably check that out later. He is still unsure as to why he hasn't poured gasoline on the eyesore. Oh yeah—Patton insists on keeping it for some godforsaken reason) with his hands locked firmly behind his back.

Virgil assumes his role as a brick wall (he's wanted to be one since childhood: they sit still, do nothing, and idiots sometimes run into them—what's not to love?) and places himself between his two friends. He eyes Roman, "Do I look like a fucking damsel in distress to yo—"

"Begone, Satan!" Roman carelessly hops around the blockade and whips something else out of his pocket to threaten with.

Virgil scowls at his failed heroism, "Dude, put away the crucifix—actually, on second thought, why do you even have a crucif—"

"Feast upon my fiery spirit!" he flourishes the chopstick in his left hand like a spear, displaying a number of elaborate swings and jabs (Virgil won't admit it, but the techniques are actually impressive, as Roman took tons of sword fighting classes as a teen. He was the captain of his high school jousting team and a state champion. Logan was also a state champion and captain of his club—chess. Virgil was neither a captain nor a champion of any club because of his good friend Social Anxiety).

Since Roman is apparently delirious, he turns to the other with an apologetic grimace, "Patton, I'm so sorry, this is not how this was supposed to happ—"

"The beast is called Patton?" Roman accuses boisterously, pointing his chopstick at the ghost in question.

"Hiya!" Patton grins and offers a friendly wave, as if he isn't being threatened by a loony, flaming homosexual.

"It speaks!"

"OKAY! Pump the brakes, Princey!" Virgil allows pure frustration to seep into his voice as he squares his shoulders at Roman (in his perpetual position of hunching spectacularly, Virgil just about reaches Roman's nose and easily clears Logan's mouth. But when he stands up straight, he towers over the both of them, much to Roman's dismay. He'd do it more often, but it's challenging to stand up like that constantly, so he only does it when he's angry).

Roman immediately notices the change in his disposition and takes the hint to shut the hell up (which he's not known to do. Virgil is pleasantly surprised). He raises his nose indignantly and adjusts his golden earrings with a sniff.

"I'm just trying to help save you," he whines.

Virgil channels his inner Remy, "Thanks, but I don't need saving, Bitch."

"He's a strong and independent woman!" Patton whispers in the background.

Virgil sticks his finger in Roman's direction, an unfamiliar calm soaking through his bones, "You, come sit here and I'll explain everything."

Roman follows the instructions but emits a displeased squawk as he lowers himself onto the contaminated couch. He hastily shrugs off his sequined sweater and tosses it to one of the dining room chairs with precision. Reluctantly perching himself on the lime green monstrosity, he awaits Virgil's promised explanation.

Virgil doesn't know where to start and spends a silent second flailing helplessly in his mind, but Patton prompts him forward using his million-dollar smile. The ghost dims his glow respectfully so that Virgil may speak.

"Alright," Virgil clears his throat awkwardly, "Roman, this is Patton. Patton this is a Roman." He gestures to each one as he mentions them.

"So you said earlier," Roman mutters, regarding the peppy specter like prey.

Patton, in contrast, sticks out his hand to be shaken, "Heya there, kiddo! I've been roamin' around here for a while now."

Roman's tough-guy persona falters as he mutters at Virgil, "Was that a pun?"

"Yes," Virgil sighs, peeling his palm off of his face, "He's been known to do that."

"And what exactly is he?" Roman stage-whispers, losing the panicked aura that has been surrounding him.

"A fucking unicorn."

Roman's eyes widen and Virgil shakes his head in exasperation, realizing that sarcasm is going to get him nowhere (which is a downright travesty—sarcasm has never failed him in the past).

"No, you dumbass, he's not a unicorn! Use your big boy brain for a second. What does he look like to you?"

Roman examines from a safe distance, chopstick at the ready. Patton makes a few feeble attempts at miming out the letters that spell ghost, but only succeeds in spelling 'toast'.  Nevertheless, by using context clues, Roman comes to a conclusion.

"Ghost!" he exclaims, punctuated with a dazzling snap of his fingers.

"Bravo. What gave him away—the transparency or glow-in-the-dark properties?"

"Now, now, Virgil, there's no need to be mean," Patton chides helpfully.

Roman smirks, "Yeah, Virgil. Listen to your ghost friend over here that you didn't tell me about."

Virgil flinches and rubs his neck sheepishly, "About that—I was going to, okay? I just wasn't sure if you guys would react badly or not."

"React badly?" Roman gasps, "I only react with grace and professionalism."

"The chopsticks stuck in the rug say otherwise."

"I didn't ask what the chopsticks thought."

"And I didn't ask to be put through the displeasure that is seeing you're face today, but here we are."

"Sorry, babe, I couldn't hear you. I was too busy pulling this knife out of my back."

Virgil grumbles, resigning, "Whatever. Patton and I will tell you the whole story—"

"Thank you!"

"—But only if you brought me my chicken fried rice."

Roman scoffs, "How could I forget?"

"Fine. Now that we've settled that, it was like three months ago—right Patton? Yeah? Oh right! Okay, it was the day you and Logan dropped me off at the apartment..."

***

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Roman! Get your fucking alarm!" Virgil moans from his couch crease (which gets deeper and deeper every day). He drowns out the witches noise as best he can with what he has: his arm and a throw pillow.

"You get it," a groggy voice yells half-heartedly from the pink-walled bedroom.

"I'll get it!" An all-too preppy voice chirps from above.

"Patton, my dear, you are physically unable to touch anything," Roman calls (the ghost and him bonded extremely fast last night. The two have a lot more in common than Virgil and Patton do. Both are avid makeup users—or, Roman is and Patton was in his living days—and they both have a knack for fashion. They are also arguably the nicer half of Virgil's minuscule friend group, since he and Logan are not known for their warm cuddles).

"I know!" Patton giggles jovially, "thought I'd give it a try, though!"

"How are you so happy?" Virgil accuses grumpily, becoming one with the crease, "It's seven in the morning."

"I'm a ghost, kiddo! That means no sleep for me!"

"I know, I know," he mumbles, "Just tone down the sunshine a tiny bit. Please?" Patton's lucky that he's conscious enough to exhibit manners of any sort.

"Aw, I'll do anything for you, Virgil!" he gushes (and ew—why does he sound so sincere? Sincere doesn't even enter Virgil's vocabulary until three in the evening).

"Take your affection elsewhere," the emo orders with a lazy swing of his arm. He wriggles farther into the endless depth of the couch.

"Patton, I'll love you much more than he ever will," Roman says with a wink and cheeky blown kiss.

"That's so sweet!" Patton squeals, "I love you too! Oh—but, don't worry, Virgil. I love you both equally."

Virgil offers a slothful thumbs-up, pretending that he's paying attention.

"Regretfully, I have to be on my way. Nursing school awaits!" Roman declares, clapping just to get on Virgil's last nerve, "But never fear, I will return soon to acquaint myself better with you, Patton," he addresses the ghost and then approaches the couch, slapping the back Virgil's head, "Bye babe, I'll see you at our place for dinner tonight."

"What?" Virgil starts and opens one eye halfway.

"Unless, of course, you forgot?" Roman mocks.

"Forgot what?" Virgil is still striving towards coherent thoughts.

Roman smiles like a thousand suns, "Board game night!"

"Oh—right. That's today," Virgil groans dejectedly (board game night more often than not results in monumental fights between the three friends. Nothing brings out their competitive spirit like a good old fashioned round of Go Fish. Of course, they all have specialties. Logan hones his intellectual prowess in Clue and Monopoly, and is the reigning champion. Roman is weirdly lucky and has won at Yahtzee a ridiculous number of times. And then there's Virgil and his infamous poker face that causes Logan to go on a rampage. Needless to say, a lot of feelings are thrown around during board game night, and not all friendships survive).

"Board games?" Patton twirls around Roman like a fairy, glowing brightly, "I positively adore board games!"

Roman grins at his endearing antics and extends the invitation, "And you, my dear, are also invited."

Patton opens his mouth to presumably thank him but quickly stops himself short. His shoulders fall rigid and the blue light illuminating the room fades considerably, as he remembers something.

"On second thought, I don't think I can make it, kiddo."

Virgil perks up, making a feeble attempt to wake up (because why on earth would Patton not be able to go? He seemed so excited at the prospect of board game night).

Roman is confused by confession, but not put off, "That's perfectly fine! No worries, dear. But the offer stands for every gathering us three musketeers have."

Patton nods mutely.

"Ah—well, I'll be leaving now," Roman dramatically breaks the silence, "Exit stage: Roman."

The door clicks and Patton and Virgil are alone.

***

"Virgil?"

(Why do people insist on interrupting his peaceful slumber today? The next time this happens, he swears that he will club a bitch, despite the laws against domestic violence).

"What?" he breathes sharply.

"Are you too tired? We don't have to talk right now if you aren't up to it..." the voice trails off, unsure.

(Good. Now he can continue his dreaming in peace).

A couple moments pass.

(Wait, was that Patton? He only interrupts Virgil's sleep if it's something important).

Another moment passes.

(Shit, he's probably trying to say something significant).

Struggling tremendously, Virgil manages to pull himself upright and coax the wooziness out of his body, answering Patton in a daze, "Naw, I'm listening, just give me a second."

It takes approximately four minutes before Virgil can discern between reality and imagination. He glances at his phone. It's ten till nine-o'-clock.

"Alright—and could you dim the glow a little, please? My eyes are burning. Thank you. What is it you wanted to ask?"

"Not ask," Patton clarifies, "More like tell. I don't know how much Remy told you about things like us, but I'd like to explain some of it myself—if that's okay?"

Virgil tries not to nod too vigorously (he's really curious, okay?), "Dude, I encourage it. Tell me whatever you want to."

"Okay, I wanted to star by explaining the significance of that charming couch of yours."

(Fucking finally).


	7. The Truth Lies in the Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patton gives some long-awaited explaination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you thought I forgot that I said I'd upload at least one a week. Well, guess what? you were right i remembered i was supposed to update like three hours ago but here it fucking is i am a procrastination legend my dudes
> 
> (Seriously, tho, enjoy)
> 
> (And it's eleven-thirty right now, so technically, it hasn't been a week since the last chapter)
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter warnings: mentions of death, murder and violence; lots more dialogue than I'm used to tbh

Virgil aims to not look like he's not about to shit his pants in anticipation. He fails, but Patton's an actual angel so he refrains from commenting.

"I'm assuming sweet Remy told you about the qualifications for us ghoulish folk?" Patton sheepishly grins in an uncharacteristically cheerful fashion, even by his standards. But the hazy blue light enveloping the room is at an all-time dim, betraying Patton's true, nervous feelings.

Virgil replies cautiously, wading through his friend's emotions with care, and trying to be less emotionally constipated than usual (If he can do it for someone, it'll be Patton, dammnit), "I _sincerely_ hope you're joking about sweet, but yeah. I know that, to become a ghost, you have to have been—well, you know..."

He chokes on the word 'murdered', partially out of his desire to be sensitive towards Patton's feelings, and partially because he still doesn't quite believe it himself (In fact, he's deliberately avoided thinking about it, since every time he does he suddenly wants to punch a tree. And that's saying something considering the pro-environmental lectures he's had mercilessly drilled into his head by Logan a minimum of once a month).

Patton smiles soothingly, despite the situation, "No need for the sour face, kiddo. You can say that I was killed—"

Virgil winces.

"—without worry. I've embraced it by now," He tosses a thumbs-up.

Virgil raises his eyebrows skeptically and murmurs, "You sure? I don't want to disrespect you're ghost culture or something."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head!" Patton giggles, creepily upbeat, "There's not much you could do to offend me, you perfect, sparkling thundercloud of a human."

"Die," Virgil deadpans upon hearing the dreadful nickname (how dare someone suggest that he, the edgiest person he knows, could ever sparkle?).

"Been down that road already, kiddo."

"You know what I mea—actually, never mind—and please never use finger guns again, you look like a dad. Wait, who am I kidding? Knowing you, you probably want to be a dad. Just—continue your explanation," he cuts off his rambling with a sigh and makes a 'hurry the fuck up' motion with his hands.

"As you wish," the room grows brighter with his words, "So sweet Remy—"

"Not sweet, closer to spicy."

"—told you that we have to be killed. That's as much as I really know along the lines of boxes that need to be checked. Remy, despite seeming a bit careless, was working on finding out any other common denominators among us undead."

"So there's more to it than," Virgil flares his nostrils, "murder?"

"He thought so, yes. He was such a smart guy, always giving me constructive criticism—"

Virgil snorts, "Yeah, right."

"—cracking jokes twenty four seven, and collecting as much data as possible on ghosts. I miss him these days," Patton reminisces bittersweetly.

Virgil finds himself monumentally uncomfortable, as he does in any social situation involving strong emotions (at least putting an arm around Patton isn't an option, he never knows when to do that during Roman's frankly overdramatic meltdowns. Thank god, Logan shares his pain, so they find solace in each other by simply remaining within five feet of one another).

Thankfully, Patton resumes speaking on his own and Virgil succeeds in not speaking on anything that could potentially soil their entire relationship (Which means can keep his 'mediocre friend' badge that Roman so thoughtfully made out of gold shimmering crayola clay about a year ago to make him feel better after losing a big Poker game. Virgil was not at all amused, but he secretly keeps the monstrosity in his top dresser drawer, under all the horribly mismatched socks. But Roman can see it under no circumstances whatsoever; it would decimate Virgil's edgy persona that he maintains with eyeliner and sarcastic one-liners).

"He's not the only one I miss, though. Have I mentioned the delightful kids who haunt Flicker Mall? I think it's thirty minutes away from here—my memory's kinda fuzzy these days. There are around six ghosts there—isn't that crazy!? I'd never heard of so many of us together—or if there were any other ghosts at all—until I met them. There's this one who totally reminds me of you, kiddo! They're a total cinnamon roll on the inside, just like you! And they've got some stylin' hair to boot."

Virgil smiles softly at Patton's endearing rambling, scolding him without bite, "Don't call me a cinnamon roll. If anyone's a cinnamon roll here, we both know it's you."

Patton hovers up to him and playfully mimics booping him on the nose, "The fact that you can say that makes you a cinnamon roll. A sugary, warm, lovable—"

"Alright, we're getting off topic here," Virgil grumbles, hunching at the sudden praise (he needs more time to prepare for this mushy crap).

"Aw, but I was on a real _roll_ complimenting you, bud."

"Rule number two, Patton," Virgil reminds grumpily.

"Right, right," Patton waves him off, "Sorry, can't help myself. Where was I?"

"Talking about some other ghosts at that Flicker Mall out by the Logan and Roman's place. Actually, I've been meaning to ask. How the hell did you make friends with all of them? You seem like you can't leave our apartment, because if you could, I'm positive I'd have a boisterous angel on my shoulder all day every day."

"Well, you're certainly right about that last part, Virgil," his face falls ever so slightly as he carries on, "As for how I know all my buddies..."

"Remember, you don't have to tell me," Virgil supplies (even though he'll literally burst into waterfall-esque bawling if Patton doesn't spit out why the fuck he can't leave this stupid fucking apartment _right the fuck now_ ).

"No, it's fine," the ghost pauses for a few seconds, seeming to gather courage, "When I died, I died in this apartment."

Theres a silence that's lasts for way too long so Virgil reluctantly breaks it.

"So are you, like, tied to this musty old apartment?" he asks sympathetically (he came to this conclusion based on a number ghost-centered films that he's been going through for research purposes. He wouldn't wish being stuck in this apartment on his greatest enemy, or even Roman for that matter).

"Almost," Patton says, voice subdued, "The last thing I saw as I was killed was that couch." He points at the green leather atrocity, "Which, like you said, ties me to it. But since I'm tethered to the couch itself, I can move with it. Ghosts like Remy aren't nearly as lucky. He died face down, looking at the floor, so he's never been outside his mattress store."

Virgil is reeling at light speed by the end of his explanation, and mutters to himself, "That explains why you didn't want me to get rid of the couch when I first moved in."

"On the nail, kiddo. I don't haunt the apartment. I haunt this couch," he levitates above his favorite spot, signature smile slowly but surely clawing its way back.

"So how did you meet your friends?" Virgil inquires, hoping that smalltalk involving the other ghosts will be both informative to him and lighthearted for Patton.

He's right, as Patton turns on like a lightbulb, immediately gushing about his friends, "Well, it's kind of weird how it all happened. The quirky gal who came to the apartment after me sent the couch to Flicker Mall to make room for more furniture. The mall itself was new at the time, and she worked in a coffee shop that needed a couch. It was _sofa_ -n for the first few weeks—getting to see all the people interacting with each other the entire day. See, I don't remember much about being alive. Just small, irrelevant details, like makeup routines and fashion taste, so it's pretty magical for me to watch how families and friends function as the years pass by."

Out of nowhere, Patton's expression turns grim and desolate (which makes Virgil worry. Patton isn't supposed to look like that. Where's the million-dollar grin and persistently peppy disposition?)

"This part's a bit dark, kiddo—is that alright?"

Virgil nods robotically, patiently awaiting the end of the story.

"Okay, if you're comfortable with it. One night, during one of the biggest sales of the year, there was a weird lookin' guy who came into the store. He wore a bunch of dark colored clothing, and this baggy old sweatshirt with an intricately drawn rose on it. To put it simply, he had a weapon with him and got violent when one of the cashiers wouldn't give him a discount. He was obviously very troubled and sad and all-around an unhappy guy. As he walked through the spinning door at the entrance, he appeared to receive an upsetting phone call of sorts. His eyes were filled with tears and I j-just wish I could've been alive to give him a shoulder to lean on, to prevent him from committing such a horrible crime. I wish I'd lived a while longer, if only to do that.

"S-six people died before he stopped...Sorry, I need a moment—It's just tragic to think about the bright kiddos that died that day. They had so much more to live for," blue, fog-like tears drift down Patton's face slowly. They hit the ground, burst into tiny fireworks of pale light and then fade gradually into the air.

"Take all the time you need," Virgil desperately wishes he could hug the crying ghost in front of him. He can't, so he scoots closer instead—something he rarely does.

Patton acknowledges him with a grateful nod and shakes off his tears, which are entirely unaffected by the laws of gravity, "After the whole ordeal h-happened, the bodies were left on the ground. Everyone else had high-tailed it on out of the store, so it was just me, staring at them until the authorities f-finally came and cleaned everything up. But once the bodies were gone, something peculiar began to happen. Where each person has passed, a ball of light was forming. There were different, but equally beautiful colors for each of them—orange, green, yellow, red, purple, and gold. They stayed in this geometric form for a while, steadily morphing into a ghost, and not a single human noticed them, as if they were invisible.

"Each of them had latched onto a separate item in the store, and was rightfully disoriented when they came to. I had to break the wretched news to them. They all took it surprisingly well and adapted much faster than I ever did. They're so brave," he smiles fondly, "Inevitably, we all became fast friends, being stuck together and all. I spent a couple years there—I'm not sure how many, probably around three or four."

He reverts back to the unnatural gloomy Patton face (which he should never wear, because Patton should always be fucking happy), "Until, of course, the owner of the couch decided to find a new job and move me again. I stayed at Mattress Kingdom with Remy for less than a year before moving back to this apartment. Not that I'm not grateful for my time with Remy—because it was wonderful. I just want to see him—all of them—again."

At last Patton sinks downward, glancing at Virgil expectantly.

This entire time, emotions of all types were stirring like a potion inside of Virgil's head (happiness that Patton has had company in the past, satisfaction at understanding the hidden meaning behind the couch, sadness at the terrible fate that befell the curious residents of Flicker Mall). He can't fathom what Patton has gone through in his life and death, but he wants to do whatever is possible to make it up to him. 

After a minute, Virgil inhales assuredly and decides upon something.

He cracks Patton a genuine smile and stands up, dusting himself off. He grabs his phone from the rickety table, dials a number, and holds it up to his ear.

Patton watches him, thoroughly baffled.

Virgil holds up a finger and gives a knowing wink as he answers the phone.

"Hey Roman, are you on break? Good...No, for the last time, I'm not calling you babe. I hate you too much, Tinky-Winky...Anyways, I need you to grab Logan's car and bring it over here...I don't know! Bribe him with Crofter's or something, you know how much he loves that stuff. Just get the car, and make sure there's room in the trunk."

He casts his to eyes Patton, who is tilting his head like a cat, and makes one last statement.

"Buckle up, Princey. You, me, and Casper are going to Flicker Mall."


	8. Obliviated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for Roman, Virgil assumes his detective persona to get to the bottom of Patton's obvious issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just spent maybe five hours watching Shane Dawson conspiracy videos, so if there's a reference, it's because my mind is on obscure murders right now.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope y'all are having a positively lovely day! And if, like me, you're starting school soon (mines tomorrow I'm crying thinking about it), then good fucking luck. 
> 
> Have a chapter to lighten your spirits if you're an emotional wreck like me:

Virgil checks his phone, fidgeting as he leans against the steadily creaking door.

It's been an hour since he called Roman, and the Queen of the Gays himself has yet to show up, so something's holding him up. If there is one thing Roman is _not_ , it's a slow driver, made apparent by the gaping dents in his previous cars. And Logan's previous cars. And Virgil's bike. And, now that he thinks about it, Mr. Kline's car too—though, thank fuck, he doesn't know about that incident yet.

Off to the side, Patton happily performs flips from the floor to the ceiling as they wait for their ride to arrive. He's glowing exceptionally bright at the prospect of seeing his spectral friends again and he's practically vibrating with excitement. The 'ghost fog', as Patton has dubbed it (Virgil likes 'death juice' better but he thinks it may be a bit insensitive), slowly settles on the newly carpeted floors, giving the illusion of a sort of luminescent swamp within his living room. Considering the couch that probably does have some actual algae under the suspiciously lumpy cushions, it's a fitting look for the room.

Suddenly, Patton freezes mid-loop-de-loop, his arms dangling as he sits upside-down. He pauses, seeming to mutter something to himself while crumpling his eyebrows until they seem to touch.

He twirls himself upright and floats up to Virgil wearing that same perplexed expression, "Who's coming to pick us up again, kiddo?

Virgil inhales sharply (there's the memory thing again) but answers him calmly, "It's Roman, remember? Princey?" He looks at Patton expectantly.

The ghost gives a frankly nervous laugh and shakes his head quickly as if chastising himself, "Of course. My apologies."

Virgil purses his lips.

He waits a couple seconds, mentally debating whether or not he should comment. He makes his final decision, knowing that it will eat him alive if he doesn't ask.

"Patton?" he shifts so that he's fully facing his friend.

Patton, who had resumed his acrobatics without a care in the world, regards Virgil  
gingerly, "Yeah, Virge? Are you okay?"

(The concern on his face is so blatant that Virgil can feel his heart ache for the father he never had).

"It's not a matter of my health. This is about _you_ ," he grumble-slash-whispers, allowing his vibrant bangs to slide over his eyes. (Caring about people is uncomfortable territory for him, okay?).

"What do you mean by that?" Patton cocks his head like a curious newborn kitten.

"The memory problems," Virgil mutters.

The ghost stares at him quizzically.

Virgil gestures at him wii a scowl, "You know! Your memory problems!"

"What memory problems?"

Virgil groans, repeating Patton's words incredulously, "What memory probl—actually, that just further proves what I'm talking about!"

Patton, ever the oblivious angel (which Virgil would like to file a formal complaint to God about; no one should be this perfect, damnit), just continues with the lost puppy face, "I think you're getting a little delusional here, kiddo."

Virgil offendedly scoffs, "I am not delusional, thank you."

"Oh, no, no, no! I didn't mean it like that! I'm just saying that it's a teensy far-fetched."

He eyes Patton wryly, "Oh, really?"

He nods.

Virgil puts his I-know-I'm-right-about-this-so-get-the-fuck-ready face on (something that, up until right now, has been exclusively used on Roman) and squares his shoulders confidently, "Do you remember when we played Uno together last week?"

Crossing his arms defensively (albeit babyishly), Patton nods his head once more.

"Alright, you remember Roman being there?"

Obviously not remembering, Patton nods again.

"You know how Roman ended up winning like seven times in a row?"

Another goddamn nod.

"Uh-huh. And are you not at all concerned that I only introduced you to Roman yesterday?"

Patton deflates, caught red-handed, but Virgil is not done.

"Or how, you know, you cannot physically play Uno because _you are a ghost_!"

 

His voice is in a weird mix of shouting and mumbling before he crosses his arms like a disappointed teacher and attempts to get Patton to meet his eyes.

The ghost opens his mouth to defend himself (which Virgil is about to debunk faster than Shane Dawson hops on a conspiracy, because this is Patton. And Patton never lies) but Virgil feels the need to throw in one last statement that truly solidifies that the whole story was a scam, "And if you think that Roman could beat me in a game of Uno, then you are clearly having some issues." (Virgil would like to quickly clarify that the one time last winter when Roman technically won a single round of Uno, he was definitely cheating and should be tried for crimes. He and Logan are planning to hold a trial sometime next month).

A half-hearted laugh fights its way out of Patton's throat.

Feeling tension rising, Virgil apologizes softly, desperately hoping that he didn't anger his friend, "I didn't mean to expose you so brutally, Pat, and I'm sorry. Just—why do you feel the need to lie about this?"

"..."

"Pat, I really am sorry if I hurt yo—"

"It's okay, kiddo," he flashes a heartbreaking smile, "It's not your fault that I'm so emotional all the time," he sniffles hastily, "I just don't want to burden you with this particular problem."

(Oh, the irony. Normally it's Virgil who needs convincing of his self worth. But he has Logan, who will spit out endless facts about why he's important, and Roman, who writes page-long sonnets about him when he's feeling down. Basically, he's not used to being on this side of the equation. But he's accepted his role with determination, and so help him God, he will make Patton feel so fucking good about himself that he's dying to spill every one of his problems on Virgil).

Virgil takes a calming breath and stands at his full height (which is scarily tall; he just slouches like an old woman with aggressive scoliosis. Point is: he even towers over Patton, who hovers a foot off the ground already). He muster enough confident for around what he estimates to be a forty-five second rant, so he's going to make the most of it.

"Alright, _buddy_ , let me make something very clear. And you know I don't often say things like this. To be completely honest, there are three people on this entire planet that I give a half-a-damn about. I fucking care about you, okay? I don't know how or when that happened but it's fucking true, and it scares the shit out of me because you're a ghost and I don't know how you function. You could disappear at any moment and I wouldn't know how to stop it! So if you are having any ghost problems: amnesia, tiredness, or spontaneous fucking combustion—I don't care! You will tell me. Just like I will tell you if I'm experiencing any of those symptoms! We are friends—fuck, even best friends—and you can't keep something this important from me!"

He finishes with a mighty pant and puts his hand on his knees (damn, apparently Virgil's unforeseen ability is to scream at someone until they appreciate themselves. It's more tiring than it looks—how do Roman and Logan do this all the time?).

"Virgil."

He glances at Patton, who is trembling violently, and realizes that he might've accidentally come off as fucking terrifying.

Virgil eyes the floor and hangs his head, while mentally face-walling, "Oh, God, Patton. That was way out of line. I didn't mean to be—"

"T-That. Was..."

Virgil moves his eyes to the stammering ghost. Patton's facing the floor and shaking like a volcano. Just as a few spectral tears spill onto the floor, he bursts.

"That was the _n-nicest_ thing anyone's ever said to me!"

Virgil double-takes at the sheer, monstrous volume of his voice. He covers his ears in fear of permanent hearing damage, and watches the wailing ghost is shock.

"Kiddo!" Patton babbles incoherently, "You're so s-sweet! I'll never forget that!"

(Only Patton would make a pun at a time like this).

He sniffles and snorts after each word and flings himself at Virgil for a hug, evidently forgetting, once again, that he cannot touch anything, and phasing right through the unsuspecting emo.

(Fuck, he was not prepared for the love to be so abruptly turned onto him. He can give the compliments, but receiving is a whole other can of worms).

"Alright," Virgil says with his hands up, "I seem to have gotten my message across?"

Patton bobs his head 'yes' in time with his joyous sobs.

Stepping back, Virgil continues, "Good, and don't expect me to ever to that again."

Patton mumbles a broken, "Never," as he trails towards Virgil in a blind, affectionate stupor.

Virgil resumes backing away as he comments, but Patton keeps following in his daze, "What do you plan on actually doing about the amnesia, though?"

Patton finally sobers up and contemplates, "I'm not quite sure either, kiddo. But since you were kind enough to offer to take me and my trusty couch to Flicker Mall, we could stop at Remy's place on the way."

"That'll work," Virgil nods quickly texting Roman the change in plans, "Do you think he'll be willing to help even though it's not a Sunday?"

Patton grins, wiping off the mystical tears, "Nah, we'll be fine if he knows it's for me. That kid's a secret softie on the inside."

Thinking of the ghost in question's sarcastic comments and disregard for human decency, Virgil skeptically replies with, "Sure, whatever say," accompanied by an eye roll.

"Now, Virgil," Patton chides, "You gave me the benefit of the doubt. Shouldn't we do the same for Remy?"

Suddenly feeling like a little kid, he sighs with a hint of the trademark Roman melodrama, "Fine."

"Thank you," Patton flashes that do-gooder smile.

"Anyways, how much do you know about the cause of the memory loss?" Virgil asks cautiously, reigning the conversation back on to its original course.

Patton, thankfully isn't put off by the inquiry, and answers thoughtfully, "About as much as I know about fantasy football."

Virgil raises his eyebrows, "So next to nothing?"

"Bull's eye," Patton throws a pair of cheesy finger guns that Virgil want to moan 'dad' in a long and drawn out tone.

He refrains and continues his good-natured interrogation, "So what all can't you remember? Or rather, what do you remember not remembering?"

"Cat got your tongue?" Patton teases, "I can recall the basic facts from when I was alive. I know my name is Patton Morrigan. I know that I positively adored makeup and puppies and pandas and the color blue and Jim from The Office and—"

Virgil interrupts fondly, "We get it. You're adorable. I agree that those are important, but are there any other non-opinion facts about you in there?" He taps a pointer finger on his own head for emphasis.

Patton hesitates for a moment, absentmindedly running his hands through the ghost fog he's emitting, "Well, I definitely lived in this apartment before my unfortunate accident. I think I lived somewhere else before that, but that part is blurry. I can't remember any super important people in my life. But occasionally, I get these weird flashbacks of a guy who had red hair and was super flashy. And maybe a brown haired girl too—like I said, kiddo, it's all jumbled. All this is really scrambling my brain."

"It's all right, we can take a break from all this," Virgil holds up a hand. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out.

"Is Roman here?" Patton perks up, rising to Virgil's height, giddy as he was earlier.

But Virgil's face soon pales, to the point where he looks like a vampire (Actually, he always looks like a vampire. The most accurate comparison is—God help him—a ghost).

"What is it?" Patton frets.

Virgil just massages his temples and shows his phone to Patton, indicating a slew text messages from Roman.

**From: Prince of Your Dreams**  
**To: Spicy Emo Boi**  
**Sent at 1:30 PM**

**CODE FUCKING RED. ABORT. ABORT.**

**From: Prince of Your Dreams**  
**To: Spicy Emo Boi**  
**Sent at 1:31 PM**

**LOGAN MADE ME PROMISE TO TKAE HIM WITHH ME BC HE THINKS IM ACING SUSPICIOUS WHICH IM NOT I PROMISE**

**From: Prince of Your Dreams**  
**To: Spicy Emo Boi**  
**Sent at 1:31**

**IVE BEEN DISTRACTING HIM AND WERE PULLING IN**

**From: Prince of Your Dreams**  
**To: Spicy Emo Boi**  
**Sent at 1:32**

**HIDE PATTON AND COME UP WITH EXCUSES NOW GOOO**

Virgil looks up at God with a pleading face and mumbles under his breath.

"Patton, I hope you can still turn invisible."


	9. Patrick the Nonexistent Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before consulting the ghost of Mattress Kingdom Aisle Six, Virgil and Roman must overcome their greatest obstacle yet: Logan, an actual human supercomputer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter consisted of this:
> 
>  
> 
> Hi there, everyone! I am twopinchesifcinnomon, the author of this little story, and I'm also a high school student. 
> 
> School started up just last week and I have decided I'd like to move my update day to Saturday. I'll delete this chapter/note when I do update. (Just to clarify: the next update will be on this Saturday!)
> 
> My apologies for no updates today, I think It'll be a lot easier when I can write freely on weekends.
> 
> However, to make up for this four-day long wait, I'm going to make this next chapter pretty long.
> 
> Also! If anyone has any suggestions or scenes from Patton the Friendly Ghosts they'd like to say, leave them in the comments and I'll take them into account when I write. And, if anyone has any questions for me, I'll be delighted to answer them.
> 
> Thanks for putting up with this, and have a fantabulous week! (And may god help those of us in school)
> 
> ^^^  
> All of this still applies, if you want to ask questions or make suggestions, feel free. And, rather than doing one super long chapter, I will instead be posting an extra chapter sometime this week. Enjoy what I've made as of today, and have a wonderful week!

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

"Jesus fuck, Patton, stop hovering and just do the invisible thing!"

_Knock._

"I don't know how long I can hold this state, kiddo. I think Logan may see right in through me..."

_Knock. Knock._

"See right thro—oh my God, now is not the time for puns! Just do it! We'll figure something else out at Mattress Kingdom."

"Alrighty..."

 _KNOCK_.

After hastily checking to make sure the hyperactive ghost is nowhere in sight, Virgil sticks his hair under the sink and then rushes to the door like some sort of crazed animal. He plasters a sheepish smile on and opens it up, pretending to be panting and ignoring the cold droplets falling onto his stomach, thoroughly unwelcome (why couldn't he have made the water just a little bit warmer? If hyperthermia counts as murder, then he'll be joining Patton soon. What color ghost would he be?).

He is met with the lovely, four-eyed stare of one of his best friends.

"Lo-logan! Hey, sorry about that, I was just taking a shower," he doesn't even have to fake the stutter with his teeth chattering so spectacularly (seriously, is there something wrong with the pipes? That might explain the fungus looking thing in the bathtub...)

In the doorway, Logan narrows his eyes, ignoring the excuse and shooting straight for his point, as per usual, "Why is Roman acting as if he's hiding a government secret?"

"I am _not_!" Roman pops into view with an affronted expression as Logan stalks inside and settles himself onto the couch. The sudden burst of rainbow both metaphorically and physically is enough to cause whiplash.

"You hardly talked to me this morning, which is something that I wish you would do more often, but is highly unusual. And, most noticeably, you didn't argue when I played my music in the car," Logan scoffs and points out dubiously, all while carefully loosening his probably too-tight tie.

(Virgil's always wondered how he doesn't suffocate. Maybe he already has and zombies exist too. He wouldn't be fucking surprised at this point).

"I like Mozart," Roman whines in protest shaking his vibrant hair like a kicked puppy.

"Yeah, but you like Beyoncé more," Virgil chimes from the side, honestly just happy that Logan bought the whole 'shower' thing (it's a real feat to trick someone so naturally brilliant. Which is why Logan isn't allowed to watch murder mysteries with him and Roman; he always spoils the endings for the rest of the group).

Roman concedes indignantly, "Yes, but Beyoncé is an actual queen. That doesn't mean I don't like listening to Mozart's Symphony No. 36." He plops himself sulkily onto the armrest of the couch, eyes raking the room for Patton (Virgil thinks that he's floating somewhere by the coffee table, which has survived thus far by the grace of God).

"Actually," Logan corrects heatedly, "It was Symphony No. 41."

"Same difference!" Roman waves his hands and rolls his eyes.

" _Actually_ ," Logan repeats, same tone and all, pushing up his glasses ominously, visibly irked that this gay peasant is disrespecting his idol, "They are absolutely nothing ali—"

"Ladies!" Virgil interrupts with a certain sarcastic tone unique to him and him only, "We get it, you're both pretty—"

"Damn right," Roman mutters, somehow doing that thing where he sounds polite and sophisticated as he cusses (Though annoying at times, Virgil has found that it's a convenient talent. It takes a special someone to have people thanking Roman for calling them, quote, "Utter fucking douchebags who deserve to sit in a room with two things for the rest of their life: an endless supply of pineapple pizza and a TV that has Sharknado 3 playing perpetually").

"—but can we focus on the task at hand? Roman, stop indirectly insulting Logan's music taste, and Logan, I can assure you that Roman is not hiding government secrets of any sort," Virgil finishes.

Roman glares at Logan, holding out a hand towards Virgil as if saying (at least, using Virgil's colorful vocabulary), 'I told you so, you insolent piece of shit'.

Virgil can't seem to help himself, adding his obligatory insult (he has to dole out at least one every hour or he breaks out in hives. It's a nasty ordeal that he'd rather avoid), "Plus, you and I both know that Roman isn't responsible enough for secrets of any kind. America would be in shambles."

"Hm," Logan seriously considers this for a second, and Virgil knows that he's won him over, "I can't argue with that."

"Thank you!" Roman exclaims. Then he starts cross-examining their words in his head, "Wait, what do you mean I can't keep secrets? Why, I haven't even said anything about Pat—"

"— _rick_! Patrick!" Virgil shouts abruptly, causing Logan to visibly flinch and Roman to slap a hand over his mouth.

"Who?" Logan questions, his interests rekindled. His eyes have a glint reminiscent of a detective rearing up for a case.

Virgil stares daggers through Roman's very soul, sincerely hoping that he meets a ruthless and gruesome death, preferably proceeding extreme torture methods (Bamboo, anyone?) and at least a few days worth of starvation.

"Yes!" Roman recovers with grace (at least he probably thinks so, the egotistical little shit), shooting a sort-of apologetic look at the seething emo, "Patrick! He's Virgil's..."

They both catch Logan's deadly skeptical look. They need to act fast or Logan is going to go full deduction mode and they'll get busted for lying (thankfully, he'll never guess that they're hiding a ghost in the house. But, he will be hurt that they won't tell the truth, and despite the fact that Logan can be a total fuckwad on the best of his days, Virgil doesn't want him to feel like that).

And so Virgil pleads that Roman's self-proclaimed 'brilliant mind' has the ability to create the most convincing scenario possible. (How bad can it be? Roman does do improv in his spare time).

"He's my..." Virgil tries desperately to claw his way out of this hole that someone dug him into, as his partner in crime is about as useless as a rock wearing a bonnet.

"Boyfriend!" Roman interjects with a snap of his finger.

" _What_?!" both Logan and Virgil echo him incredulously.

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut like trapdoors (please take it back, please take it back, _please_ —)

"Yeah, he works at Mattress Kingdom!"

(God fucking hell on a stick).

The sudden need to fall into a three-year long coma strikes Virgil, but all he can do is face palm repeatedly. For a good twenty seconds, minimum. His forehead is probably beet red.

"Oh really?" Virgil is blasted back to reality by Logan's threatening velvet voice, "And why couldn't you tell me about this?" The glasses-boosted gaze is fully piercing him now, and he feels like an ant under a magnifying glass (and yes, Virgil was the kid that crippled ants in his spare time. He had a troubling childhood, okay?).

Forcing a strained grin, Virgil begins gushing about his 'boyfriend' that doesn't exist.

"Well—you see, the thing is, good old Patrick is kind of a shy guy," he elaborates, mentally working out how to hire a hit man for Roman, and simultaneously attempting to appear as if he's ever been in a relationship before (which he has not, just to be clear. Unless you count his Harry Styles body pillow that Roman gave him as a gag Christmas gift. Which he will never admit to keeping. As far as anyone's concerned, he burned that thing like a fucking bonfire and anyone who says otherwise can fight him).

"If he's timid, I find it challenging to believe that Roman was easy to become acquainted with. He is not well suited for those faint at heart," Logan comments cynically.

" _Excuse_ you," Roman says, "What is this, Drag-Roman-to-Death day?"

Completely disregarding the last comment, Virgil scavenges his brain for a somewhat authentic response, toying with the rubber band coiled on his arm.

He acquires an idea and suddenly tilts his head down as if embarrassed (in reality, he's using his hair to cover his face because he's a crap actor), "Roman wasn't even supposed to know about us. But, being his non-knocking, rude self—"

"I hope you all know that I am a doctor and I can literally take apart your intes—"

"—he walked in on us," he launches the rubber band at Roman as a warning to shut up. It hits the mark dead on. The other two pointedly choose to tune out the overly anguished cries of 'I've been shot!' and 'This is it, where it all ends!' and 'I never thought it would be you to betray me!'

Logan resumes, "Ah. I guess I can understand why you'd have to tell Roman, considering that he caught you engaging in coitus."

"Yeah, thanks for underst— _whoaaaaah_. Hold the fuck up," Virgil spits out his metaphorical tea, and sputters, "When did I mention... _that_?! And—Jesus fuck, stop using the word coitus, you sound like your grandpa."

(Logan's grandfather, a fairly stoic man named Julian Kline, is exactly the type of person you'd expect to use the word coitus. He's also the type that Virgil believes is secretly taking over the world as a hobby. If only Logan would sit down and hear out his conspiracy theories, he would see all the facts are there).

"You said Roman 'walked in on you'. Is there a separate meaning that I am unaware of?" Logan asks quizzically.

Virgil moans and whispers mostly to himself, "I did say that, didn't I? Why? Why the fuck would I say that?"

"What our little Virgil is trying to say here," Roman swoops down with his cape and armor (better late than never, right? Fuck that. Virgil hasn't forgotten about his Roman assassination plans for after this whole ordeal is over. The things he does for Patton are astonishing to even himself), "Is that he did not intend to hide this relationship from you. I just happened across them and they told me about it."

"You didn't just 'happen across us'," Virgil corrects under his breath, thinking back to Roman and his chopstick-saber.

Finally, Logan takes the bait, and Virgil gains a spark of hope. He thinks that they may be able to pull this off without flopping Logan's strict beliefs right on their stubborn asses.

"Fine," Logan cocks his head as Roman as he adjusts his sleeves, "But I still don't see why you were planning on visiting Virgil and I wasn't allowed to come."

"Well..." Virgil can't conjure an excuse for the life of him, but for the fist time in the history of ever, their resident gay says something worthwhile.

"Patto— _Patrick_ ," Roman coughs loudly, having caught something in his throat, "Works at Mattress Kingdom and this..." he looks around the room frantically before stopping where Logan sits, "Couch! This couch belongs to him and we are planning to return it. Virgil was insistent that he tell you about Patton, _ahem_ , sorry, allergies are the devil these days, am I right? Virgil wanted to tell you about Patrick on his own terms."

Everyone (including those not seen) watches Roman in awe. (Fuck him with a tree branch, Virgil is impressed. Improv does come in handy sometimes).

After all of that convincing, Logan's final say is terribly simple.

"Oh. Why didn't you just say so? But now that I know, I'd be...willing to assist with the moving of the couch," he offers, not wanting to do any heaving lifting, but having been raised with basic manners.

Roman and Virgil gape at each other, realizing that they're free, and they swear that Patton does a little twirl, but Logan doesn't notice, thankfully.

"Don't you worry, you can go spend quality time with the elegant Vanessa," Roman assures, well aware that Logan's soft spot is his mother.

"If you two are positive?" Logan inquires, lips tilting up at the thought of alone time with his mom (most of the time it's just him and his mom, but Roman is always there too. It sounds nice to have a couple hours, just the two of them).

" _Pfft_ , its fine," Virgil rifles through his endless hoodie pockets, "Here's money for an Uber since we need the car."

The two smile hopefully at their best friend.

Giving up, Logan submits by snatching the money and saying, "Don't think this is over. I still want to meet this Patrick character. Just try not to start any cults while I'm gone."

"Come on, that was _one_ time!"

***

"This place is ginormous," Roman gazes in awe at Mattress Kingdom, the IKEA of mattress stores, through the brown tinted window.

"Make sure to stay near me," Virgil reminds as he unbuckled his seatbelt, "Otherwise we might never make it out."

"Okay, Daddy."

"On second thought, I hope you drown in the waterbed section."

"Are you guys sure I can't come with you?" Patton pouts sadly from the back seat where he's laying out of view. The couch is loose in the trunk behind him (And Virgil needs to remind himself never to volunteer to take Patton somewhere ever again. That couch is like a fucking anvil or some shit), reflecting his blue glow in an unattractive clash of colors.

"Sorry, my dear," Roman sympathizes while Virgil grumbles, voice soaked in sarcasm, "Actually, that sounds like a great idea. Allow us to waltz on into this _mattress_ store with that green abomination of a _couch_ on our shoulders and leave it with the other _mattresses_. In the _mattress_ store."

Roman looks as if he's about to chastise Virgil for being so harsh, but Patton takes the insult in stride.

"You're right, kiddo. I was being a tad inconsiderate, wasn't I? You two go ahead and talk to Rudy, I'll wait here," he flashes the Patton smile.

"Sorry. Thanks, Pat," Virgil says (he's starting to get stressed about this whole memory thing, and it's souring his relationship with Patton. Hopefully Remy will be willing to squeal).

As he locks the car, Roman quietly questions Virgil, "Didn't you say his name was Remy?"

Virgil swallows, "Yup."

Confused, Roman jabs his thumb at the ghost, "But he said Rudy?"

"Yup," Virgil clenches his teeth and pushes open the glass doors, "That's what we're here for."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint: Next chapter is called Clash of Gays


	10. Clash of Gays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy reveals the reason behind Patton's slight memory issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? Hope y'all are having a nice weekend as of yet, and Happy Labor Day. Here's this week's update, and enjoy! (Also thank you guys for such sweet comments, they make my day; and for those who messaged me, I am to be updating every Saturday).

Virgil is fired up; he's ready to fucking learn about Patton and take him to the fucking Flicker Mall and make him happy because he deserves it (and god help him he's acting sappy, but cut him some slack—this is Patton after all).

At least he would be, if he could fucking find his way in this corn maze of a store. Poor Patton must think that they've abandoned him in the car, and he's doomed to watch the melting tic-taks in the side door for entertainment (Logan still doesn't know about those. If he did, their car privileges would be promptly revoked). Moral of the story, some stores are so big that the government likely designed them to trap and kill unsuspecting customers and feed on their flesh.

"Were we not here a minute ago?" Roman inquires as they pass the ' _Restroom to Your Right_ ' sign that they most certainly were standing at a minute ago. Only, they went right, so Virgil is just a little confused as to how the _fuck_ they ended up back here in the first place (sidenote: it is possible he may piss his pants soon).

"Yes," Virgil growls in response, kicking the nearest of the thousands of mattresses with considerable force (for him, at least), "We were here a minute ago. And five minutes before that. And ten minutes before that. And, I don't know, one whole hour ago!" He punctuates each word with another mediocre (really, he's not one for the gym) kick.

"Lower the volume a tad, why don't you?" Roman shushes him as he eyes the couple who is whispering pointedly in their direction (and, Virgil would like it noted that they look just as lost as he is). Roman gives them a charming thumbs up to redirect their attention from the spazzing emo next to him, absentmindedly running his hands through his colorful locks.

"I will not!" Virgil responds haughtily, "I don't even know how I found this him last time! Aisle Six doesn't sound far from the entrance, right?" He halts with a groan as he realizes that they are in Aisle Twenty-Seven, " _Right_?!"

They trod their moping way through the entire rest of the store five times over, until they eventually stumble across the 'Aisle Six' sign (at this point, Virgil has used the restroom three times and is likely dehydrated). Unfortunately, no glow-in-the-dark homosexuals are in sight.

"Why?! What did I do to deserve this?!" Virgil cries to the gods above, "For once in this lifetime, I was trying to be a good person!"

Roman holds his manicured fingers up, the calm one for once in his...energetic lifetime, "I agree with you, but screaming like a babbling baboon isn't going to get us anywhere."

"You know what?!" Virgil exclaims, screaming like a babbling baboon, "I don't know why we stopped here anyway! What are the chances that that little ghost motherfucker is actually going to tell us anything? It's funny, really—he and you are basically the same: conceited, dramatic, stubborn, a—"

"Fabulous."

"—nnoying, shut up, Roman, I'm ranting!" Virgil averts his glare (which was locked on an unsuspecting fly buzzing past the wall) to his friend, prepared to chew him out (because no one interrupts Virgil's rants). He pauses upon seeing the expression on his face.

"Virge," Roman stutters shakily, his eyes wide, "That wasn't me."

"What?" Virgil asks, panting, and not really processing.

"I said, that wasn't me," Roman breathes.

Virgil rolls his eyes.

"The fuck do you mean it wasn't you? You're the only one—"

"He means," a voice from above chimes, "It was me."

Virgil clenches his fists (he cannot _believe_ this absolute douchebag).

"Finally! Took long enough!" He complains loudly as Roman tilts his head up, asking, "God?"

"Even better, baby."

The two friends watch from below as a cloud of white floats like a feather, gracefully hovering beside them. The figure sticks his hip out and his earrings dangle strikingly over them. Roman stares in absolute awe and Virgil crosses his arms like an irate toddler who's just had his favorite candy taken from him.

"Have you been watching us this entire time?" Virgil accuses as his friend continues to gape behind him.

"What can I say? Watching you low-lifes scuttle around like little cockroaches is like ecstasy for little old me," the ghost drifts forward and drags his luminescent fingertip across Roman's cheek, "And who might you be, sweetheart?" That signature cheeky smile creeps onto his perfectly shaped face.

Seeming to snap out of his stupor, Roman sizes up the sass-coated man in front of him. Virgil freezes momentarily in fear, as an atmospheric shift begins to occur. He can physically see Roman's mind gears turning as he assesses the details tacked on Remy's glowing body. The hoops, the shoes, his sleek hair, the skinny jeans tight enough to suffocate a small animal (all items that the prince himself has adorned in the past).

In, short Roman's gaydar is running rampant and he obviously smells some competition.

Puffing out his chest, Roman slides into his 'fabulous' persona (Virgil has kindly opted to stay out of this, because when Roman feels challenged in the sass department, people get hurt. But this time, Virgil isn't sure he'll be he victor—if anything can bruise his friend's colossal ego, it's Remy's possibly more colossal ego, God forbid).

"The name's Roman, _darling_ ," he coos, voice somehow lathered with both venom and sugar-sweetness. He holds out his hand and pokes out his hip to copy the ghost's current stance.

Sensing the newfound adversary, Remy pumps his own homo up about seven notches and mimics kissing the hand, "Well, _Roman_. I'm sure sweet Virgil's told you all about me." He smiles seductively.

Virgil backs up, extremely uncomfortable (you think he'd be used to frequent suggestive comments by now, considering the company he keeps, yet somehow it's different when someone else does it) but Roman holds him still, now determined to show up this cocky piece of shit.

"Indeed he has," Roman answers with one-hundred percent of his swagger in use, "So that just begs the question: what are you willing to tell us, Remy?" The ghosts name is drenched in salt as it leaves his tongue.

"You're going to need to be more specific than that, baby," Remy replies and diverts his gaze, "Any suggestions, Virgil, dear?"

There's a pause.

"Oh, me?" Virgil points to himself, "Sorry, I thought you guys weren't aware I even existed, with the two minutes you just spent trying to out-gay each other." (Maybe if he's sarcastic enough, he can get over the tense sparks leaping between these two).

Another pause.

"You're completely right," Roman drawls at the same time Remy says, "Actually, yes. When did you get here?"

They both look at each other in respect and then themselves in disgust.

Worried that the already weak building may crumble from the tension (what kind of tension? He's sorry to say, he doesn't know), Virgil hits his point on its head, "Stop messing around. Both of you. Remy, we need to know about Patton's memory loss— _now_."

"Aw, I love it when you order me around."

"I am serious, Remy!"

"Yeah, he's serious, Remy!"

Virgil sighs and turns to Roman with a spectacularly sarcastic glower, but he just shrugs as if to say, 'sorry, not sorry'.

"Ignoring this useless piece of shit—"

"Piece of shit? Sure. But useless—never," Roman tilts his nose up.

"Amen, sister," Remy comments, examining his riveting fingernails, until he catches the other's baffled expressions, "What? Just because I instantaneously sized you up as an enemy doesn't mean I can't appreciate a spot-on philosophy. I do have _some_ class."

"Debatable," Virgil says, " _Ahem_ , Ignoring this piece of shit," he jabs his thumb aggressively at Roman, "We regretfully need your help."

" _Gasp_ ," Remy theatrically lays a hand on his mouth, definitely not gasping.

"Bitch, did you not hear the man? Memory loss? Do you want to spill the beans or can we skedaddle?" Legitimate anger is pumping slowly on Roman's blood (because he's the only one who gets to use 'gasp' as a sarcastic comment).

  
Remy frowns at him as if he's a piece of gum on the bottom of his expensive shoe, "Um, okay, I didn't come here to be attacked—"

"Actually, we came here," Virgil interjects, exhaustion settling in his bones (honestly, he has the joint problems of an eighty-year old. Don't slouch, kids), "Just want it to be known that we found our way to this godforsaken aisle, alone, with no help from the outside world. I don't even remember what the outside world looks like anym—"

"—but," Remy continues brazenly, "I would be willing to give you your juicy gossip on one condition."

Virgil moans and buries his face in his hands.

"Am I missing something here?" Roman inquires, confused by his suddenly dejected friend."

Virgil seats himself on a mattress and addresses the ghost, "I'm assuming you want the same form of payment we agreed on. Is one episode all right for now? We hardly have time."

"I'll settle for two, take it or leave it, my little emo bitch."

"Payment? What payment?!" Roman asks, completely befuddled as Virgil pulls out his phone and clicks through it.

"Fine—but don't call me that, I will cut you. Hold on," Virgil grits his teeth, hastily typing in the wifi password he saw posted on like thirty of the walls he passed by on their Aisle Six scavenger hunt (he never was one for scavenger hunts. On Easter, he always ended up with those cheap pretzel bags that made him want to cry of injustice. He's actually convinced a deity out there wanted him to suffer from the disappointment of a chocolate substitute that is stale bread with a single grain of salt.)

" _Helloooo_!?" Roman flaps his arms in Virgil's face, an aggravated penguin of sorts, "Pay attention to me please. You know there's absolutely nothing I detest more than being out of the loop."

"Sorry," Virgil apologizes, oozing indifference, "Remy, what are you feeling like today?"

"That one," the ghost points to something on Virgil's phone.

"Guys!"

" _Ugh_ , really?" Virgil wrinkles his nose.

"Yes, dear, now press play," Remy orders.

"Whatever."

"GUYS!"

"Roman!" Virgil mocks, finally settling his attention on him.

"What is happening?" Roman asks with a flourish, "I thought I could be just about anything, save ignored. Apparently I was wrong; I can be everything."

"Tragic," Remy sniffles very un-tragically.

"Roman," Virgil starts, pressing play on his phone,

"You ready to watch some Keeping Up With the Kardashians?"

***

"That was beautiful!" Roman gushes as they wrap up the last few minutes of the second episode.

"Emotional," Remy agrees, "Truly a work of art."

"Talent."

"Drama."

" _Boring_."

"Kindly shut up, Virgil," Roman scolds.

Remy sticks his hands behind his head, "I agree with your boyfriend."

"Not my boyfriend," Virgil mutters.

"But, babe?" Roman declares, a twinkle of humor in his eyes.

"Fuck you," Virgil starts, preemptively tuning out the two 'gladly's that follow that statement, "Introducing you two was a horrible idea, but now that _that_ ," he shudders at the minutes of his life that he just threw in the drain, "Is finally over, you owe us some explanation, Remy."

Remy sighs longingly at the phone but answers, "Alright. But only since you two bent over just for me."

"Okay, let's not use that phrasing," Virgil finds his face in his palm, which is a position he's getting too familiar with.

"Spill," Roman prompts the ghost forward.

Remy dims his glow a tad and begins, the other two perking up their ears and flattening onto a mattress (it's especially comfortable—the Ultra Fluff brand: Feel the Fucking Clouds).

"So, we ended at rule one of ghosts last time. We have to be—that's right, bitches—murdered."

"We've established," Virgil says, squashing his discomfort at that word to the back of his brain.

"Don't hate, Vermin. I did say there were three rules, and I think you'll find rule two to be an answer for your frankly vexing inquiries."

"Get on with it, Caspar, dear," Roman urges (Virgil doesn't like him calling Remy that for some reason).

"Aw, sweetheart, you think I'm friendly? I'm flattered."

"Get on with it!" Virgil repeats rudely.

"Alright, alright—calm yourself. One of the other rules is..."

He trails off, for once exuding an emotion that isn't stubbornness or suaveness. Roman and Virgil don't interrupt like they have been.

"See, the ghost has to know who murdered them."

Remy sees their muddled manner and elaborates.

"Do you really need me to spell this out for you? Without that closure, cliche as it sounds, we have 'unfinished business'. Me, for example. I was killed by man whom I know the name of, as well as his motives. Though, we've never interacted, he's moved on and I have closure. Eventually, when he dies, I too will regretfully leave this world behind, Remy-less."

"Wait, ghosts,—well, _die_ —when their killer passes away?" Virgil clarifies.

"Put simply, yes," Remy reassumes that disinterested disposition he normally emits.

"Okay but what does that have to do with our peppy little Patton?" Roman appears more serious than before, "Is he approaching this...second death?"

"I doubt it," Remy reassures, "He only died ten-ish years ago, so his killer shouldn't have perished yet."

"That's _wonderful_ ," Virgil deadpan (he hates talking about Patton 'leaving them' so he naturally makes an inappropriate comment and changes the subject asap), "What do we do about the memory issues?"

"Ah. Well, I believe your problem is that Four-Eyes doesn't know who his murderer is."

"Wait, but you literally just said that's a requirement for becoming a ghost," Virgil points out.

"Well, yes," Remy concludes, "But it's not that simple. There's no definitive evidence for anything surrounding the fabulous undead, but I had a guy similar to F— _Patton_ before. Essentially, he lasted as a ghost for around nine years without knowing exactly who killed him—just what the woman was wearing the day of the death. It was a enough closure to last him nine years, but..."

"What happened after?" Roman queries, aware of the answer.

Remy sighs, "He just faded away."

They remain still for far, far too long (they all have much too stunning personalities for a soundless conversation).

"Alright then," Virgil rises from his spot, a newfound fire in his eyes, "I guess it's time for us to solve a murder."

 

(But first, he has to find his _fucking_ way out of this store).

 


	11. Carrying Couches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil, Roman, and their sparkly ghost companion haul the couch into the mall in an attempt to meet Patton's friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all, this one's short and filler and I know. But, the next chapter is going to be the opposite of those two things, so hang tight (I just want to make it perfect :))
> 
> Happy Saturday, everyone, and have an exquisite week! (Also thanks to those who message me on tumblr, the kind words make me break out in happiness hives)

"Well, that isn't too bad. Are you two kiddos doing okay?"

The. Fuck. Trust Patton to be questioning Virgil's mental state when it's the ghost's impending doom that they're discussing.

"Yeah, Pat, we are not the problem here!" Virgil emphasizes, pointing at him like a crazed English teacher. He struggles with the demanding confines of his not-so-stretchy seatbelt.

"Yeah, but you seem a little shaken," the ghost muses, yelping at a sudden speed bump, his head popping out of the top of the car (Hopefully no one witnessed that, or Logan's going to be getting some calls and they're going to have to explain why they decapitated someone and dyed them blue).

"I'm not that shaken," Virgil denies as he visibly shakes.

"Whatever you say, princess," Roman crows from the driver seat as he cranks up Ariana Grande's new single, belting with his annoyingly Broadway voice (Virgil won't admit it, but he's a tad jealous of the man's natural talent). Roman wades the car gracefully through the onslaught of cars and irate drivers and scouts the parking lot for any vacant spots, which is a marvelously daunting task. 

"Okay," Virgil concedes, "Am I the only one that's just a little concerned that we have to solve a murder? A murder! We can't even solve a 100-piece puzzle without quitting after thirty minutes and making Logan do it!"

Roman sniffs defensively, "There's just so many pieces, and frankly, there are much better ways to spend time than making a half-assed jigsaw of Colonel Mustard. I'll leave the problem solving to our resident Shakespeare, thank you very much."

Virgil sighs a hurricane and looks pointedly at Patton, as if saying 'see who you're life depends on? Do you see? Good luck, motherfucker, because our combined IQ barely makes double digits'.

"We can get through all the nitty-gritty details later," Patton waves them off, an excited grin overtaking his features, "But it looks like we're here now!"

Virgil looks at the multi-floored super mall covered from bottom to top in glass windows, each floor swimming with vibrant shades that contain a different theme. Each individual store sports it's own colors and assorted items and Virgil is going to cry right about now.

"Oh dear," Roman comments as Virgil throws his head into his hands.

"What is it? Are you okay, Virge?" Patton races over to him, reaching his translucent hand towards him.

Virgil grunts, "Its nothing Pat. Just..."

He grunts again, but works up the courage to step out of the car.

He shudders at the sight before him.

"So many people..."

***

(Is it fucking Black Friday? Or something? Because Virgil swears to the Lord Jesus, that no store he has ever stepped a toe inside of has had this level of unnecessary human contact. Mattress Kingdom was practically deserted! Why can't Flicker Mall be the same way?)

 

Virgil cartwheels out of the path a bald-eagle looking business woman, only to promptly face-plant into a burly security worker named Berk. The man glares at him with enough intensity to start a small fire in his stomach, of which will probably continue to burn until he is out of this high-tech hell. It doesn't help that he and Roman have to try to look inconspicuous while, you know, carrying an ugly-ass lime green couch.

"Sorry," Virgil mumbles as he slowly backs away from the man and his scary unibrow (which is certainly the most intimidating form of facial hair. Virgil has had some experiences).

Cranking up the royal charm, Roman saves them, "Oh, our sincerest apologies, sir!" 

The man somehow ends up giving Roman his number and they continue on their merry way. (They're going out on a date next Tuesday; Virgil isn't sure whether or not Roman plans to go or not, but he's advising against it, as the guys looks like he wants to crush their punt skulls between his big, meaty fingers).

"That guy seemed nice, kiddo," Patton says to Roman from his invisible perch atop the couch cushions.

Grunting at the heavy weight of the green abomination (these two have literally never been in a gym before—have mercy. Like, neither know what a treadmill is, no joke), Roman nods his agreement, "He was quite enchanting."

"I think he genuinely wants to murder us, but whatever floats your boat," Virgil quips as they make it to the god-send of an escalator (Virgil reigns in his instinctive urge to ride one side up and the other down multiple timers in succession.

"Hey, Satan, watch the murder jokes," Roman mock whispers, referring to Patton and his murder-ee status that they tend to not talk about.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Virgil mopes, "Which store are we visiting first, Pat?"

Patton previously told them that there were six ghosts residing in Flicker Mall (five of which he's close friends with). He's mentioned one lives in a theatre, but that's the extent of his sharing.

"Oh, goodness, that's a tough decision," Patton whispers through his invisible veil.

"How about we go wherever's closest?" Virgil aggressively suggests, tearing up at the thought of hauling the couch anywhere else.

"Okay that would be..." Patton's trails off, taking a little too long to remember which store is closest.

He waits another moment.

"The JungleBookstore!" the sound of snapping fingers follows the explanation.

"Bookstore it is!" Roman declares while sashaying backwards with the anvil of a couch (Virgil's arms are jelly and he. Is. Sweating)

Virgil trails behind him (not like a lost puppy, but like a cat who's being taken against his iron-clad will), reluctantly attached , "Whoop-de-doo."

There's that undeniable sound of hands happily clapping together in an almost giddy way—a kid eagerly awaiting Santa (how Patton seems to await his friends).

"Let go!"

***

"I know it says the place is called Jungle Bookstore, " Virgil explains as they deposit Patton's couch at the entrance, where it's never out of their sight, "But so they really have to have so many leaves?" He flicks another fallen piece of cheap paper off his nose. The maché trees and burnt orange roses are making him want to die on the inside.

"I think it's very aesthetic," Roman marvels.

"The colors are super duper pretty!" Patton compliments from the shadows.

"Abhorrent," Virgil crushes an unsuspecting faux leaf underneath his powerful sole.

"Don't be such a Negative Nancy, Virgil, Roman scolds, "Now, which section is he in, Padre?"

"The sci-fi books!"

The two (or better, three) find their way through the Mall much faster than at the hell that was Mattress Kingdom.

"Okay," Virgil says grumpily, "We're here, Patton, you can appear."

Patton materializes with a joyous swivel and examines the shelves around him. He practically sparkles with unmatched excitement.

"Patton, is that you?"

The ghost smiles a whole mile wide at the sudden orange glow enveloping the room. 

"Joan!"


	12. Deadly Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan and Patton catch up, and Virgil is quite salty sometimes. Roman just wants everyone to get along, believe it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck me with a pogo-stick, The Good Place Season Two is on Netflix.
> 
>  
> 
> In other news, here's another chapter for all y'all!
> 
> Enjoy, have a positively delightful day, all that jazz ;)

"Joan?" Virgil repeats, surveying the ghost that is materializing and glancing around the bookstore, in hopes that no one stumbles across them. He can hear the police coming to prosecute the gays along with their floating, extra shiny gays.

The new glow is a deep orange that weaves into Patton's blue in an odd contrast, giving Virgil an unwelcome sense of vertigo (seriously, he's nauseous). The new specter ignores the humans outright and approaches Patton instead.

"I can't believe you're here," the ghost—Joan—marvels quietly at Patton, holding out their (Patton had mentioned that they are a 'they') arms for a hug. Their beanie sags lazily down their face, making them seem very laid-back and chill.

Patton obliges wholeheartedly, not having hugged anyone in a long time (apparently ghost's can make contact with each other, but not humans?)

"I'm so thrilled! I don't even know how long it's been! Ooooh, how is everyone?! No, how are you? Good? Me too! Oh my God, I have so much to tell you!" Patton ramble-squeals, squeezing hard enough to kill the already dead. Joan's eyes bounce out of their head in a typical cartoon fashion, but they pat Patton, endeared (as anyone is with Patton the Friendly-Fucking-Ghost).

"Pat, my dear, are you going to introduce us to your friend?" Roman pipes up, surprisingly having shut up for more than two minutes.

Patton and Joan break apart because they apparently forgot that the other two existed (not going to lie, Virgil's a tad jealous).

"Oh, kiddos, I'm sorry," Patton grins sheepishly and gestures at orange ghost, "This is one of my closest friends, Joan!"

Joan waves at them, losing the eagerness he exuded with Patton, but smiling nonetheless, "Hi."

Virgil salutes, "Hel—"

"Salutations," the interrupting gay drawls dramatically with a grin, "The name's Roman."

He winks inappropriately and Virgil genuinely wonders how he became friends with this flirting, rainbow-haired idiot.

Virgil begins to say, "Ignore him," but stops short when he sees Joan return the wink.

And then lick their lips in a sultry manner.

Virgil groans and pounds his head, "First Remy and now this?! Why does everyone encourage him? Are any of your friends not gay?" He turns to Patton accusingly.

Patton and Joan shake their heads simultaneously and Roman muses, "Probably not."

Virgil just sighs and buries himself in his arm.

"And this ray of absolute sunshine," Patton says, obviously not intending to be sarcastic, but certainly coming off that way, "Is my new best friend, Virgil! He lives in my apartment!"

"Hello, Virgil," Joan nods at Virgil, whose burrowing into his own skin, but turns back to Patton, "So you ended up back at the old apartment?"

Patton grins meekly, lowering himself to the ground in a mimic criss-cross applesauce, "Thankfully, yes. The other owner moved out pretty quick, and after a while, Virgil moved in. I think I gave him quite the scare."

Joan snorts, "I can imagine." They settle down next to Patton.

"Did he scream?" Roman inquires delightedly.

"Don't answer that, Patton, or I'll kill you," Virgil rises to the surface for a quick threat but then ducks back down.

"I'm already dead, Virge," Patton chimes cheerfully, "And yes, he did scream—"

"Did not."

"—but enough about me. How have things been around here?" Patton asks, tuning out Virgil's miffed rumbles.

Joan's face suddenly dampens, the joyful sparkle lost.

"Well, actually, I'm the only one left," they mumble, eyes stormy.

The others inhales sharply and Virgil perks up, suddenly interested.

Patton frowns uncharacteristically, "What?"

Joan wipes at his eyes with his tangerine tinted sweater, "Yeah, we've been diminishing in the past year. Val was the first to go. They renovated the theatre, so her projector got moved and— wait, they know that we're all attached to objects, right?" Joan tilts his head at Roman and Virgil.

Patton nods solemnly, wispy tears lining his lids, "Yup, Remy gave them the whole rundown about all our ghostly laws."

Joan chuckles humorlessly, "Man, that little pasty fucker sure gets around."

Virgil winces and expects Patton to shout 'language!' like he does when Roman or he drops the f-bomb.

To his surprise, the G-rated ghost nods, "You're right about that."

Roman and Virgil exchange a look (this spirit must be a really close friend of Patton's).

"What happened after Val?" Patton lays a comforting hand on Joan's knee.

Smiling gratefully, they continue, "We were sort of at a loss for what to do. I mean, it's not like we can just up and leave. We'd thought about initiating contact with a living person, but we deemed the risk too great. We don't want anyone investigating us. But then, after Val, everyone else slowly dwindled, with all the renovations to the mall. Soon enough, my bookshelf's going to get moved and I'll be just as lost as they probably are—Terrence and E left around the same time, just so you know."

"And when did...?" Patton poses the question tenderly (and Virgil and Roman feel like they're intruding on a very personal moment).

"Somebody... someone bought Talyn's plushie a couple months ago," Joan says, voice void of emotion, or completely filled with it (it's one or the other; Virgil can't tell).

"Joan..." Patton's voice cracks with sympathy.

"Yeah it's been kinda lonely without them."

"It must be," Patton rubs Joan's back, an actual mother hen among sorrowful pigeons. They spend a few precious moments grieving for people who aren't fully lost yet (but to a trapped ghost, they are).

Virgil tries not to be completely socially unacceptable and just keeps his mouth glued tight, praying that Roman knows to do the same.

Thankfully, the tear-basked minute passes and they can get down to business.

"Okay," Joan sniffles, readjusting himself and giving an awkward 'I'm okay now' sort of nod, "Uh, sorry about that."

Roman assures, "It is completely fine; Mourning of any kind is fully natural. I even found myself tearing up at your loss."

Smiling slightly, they pull their beanie back, almost symbolic of them opening up, "Thanks."

"Let's not call it a loss yet," Patton says, a spark lighting inside of him, "I think that we can try to help with this."

"Patton," Virgil warns sharply, worried at what his friend may offer without thinking of the consequences, "I feel bad, too. And—no offense, Joan—but we have our own problems to worry about."

Patton's smile turns sour (not like a frown, but just less of a smile? Patton is literally incapable of frowning, Virgil thinks), "I know we do, kiddo. But if we could just find Talyn and everyone el—"

"Your life is on the line, Patton!" Virgil spits, on a roll and entirely disregarding Roman's shushing.

"So?" Patton argues, "Joan's happiness is too!"

"Pardon me, but I don't know them, and I don't fucking care—"

"Hold on!" Joan flies in between Patton and Virgil, looking mildly distressed, "What do you mean 'his life is on the line'?"

Patton waves them off, "It's nothing, if you could just tell us who took Val—"

"Don't you dare say it's nothing!" Virgil bristles, "This is your _life_ we're talking about! We won't be able to help your friends if you aren't around to guide us!"

"I'm not as important as—"

"Yes, you fucking are!" Virgil growls.

"Can one of you explain what the hell is going on?" Joan pleads.

"Do you know how important this is to him—?"

"No, do you know how important you are to _me_? Do you not get—?!"

"Jesus Christ, will you all please _shut_ _up_?"

Everyone stops to stare at Roman, whose leaning on the bookshelf, shushing them with the power of a thousand winds.

"I can't believe I'm the one who has to say this, but if you buffoons don't crank the volume down, someone's going to discover us," Roman stage whispers, eyebrows scrunched together in exasperation.

The others glance at each other and realize just how loud they were being (that is, loud enough to scare a few unsuspecting customers out to the street).

Patton shrinks on himself in horror that he was shouting so horribly to one of his friends, and simply breathes, "Sorry."

Disgust creeps through Virgil's veins (look at him, going and crushing Patton's feelings again), but he can't find it in himself to apologize, because he knows that he is in the right. Patton's life is more important than a spectral scavenger hunt for this 'Joan' he just met today.

So he offers a tiny grunt of an acknowledgement (and he definitely doesn't see the broken expression on Patton's face).

"I'm also sorry," Joan adds (and Virgil has forgotten they were here), "But will you guys please tell me what's going on?"

"Of course," Roman exclaims cautiously, eyeing the other two.

"Well?" Joan questions, slightly annoyed that he's being left hanging.

"Sorry," Roman sighs, "Basically, Remy explained to us that he's been doing some research on how ghosts disappear. He said that those who've seen their killer are tethered here for as long as he can tell—"

Joan nods in agreement, "Yeah, my murderer was a sketchy, sorry man."

"But those who don't see their killer, eventually fade away. And the start of the process is memory loss," Roman sums up the past day with that minuscule paragraph.

Joan cocks his head, baffled.

Roman gestures at Patton and taps his own head with his pointer finger.

" _No_..." Joan says, lost as the explanation dawns on him, "Patton, we need to help you somehow!"

"Thank you!" Virgil points at Joan, unable to contain himself.

Patton deflates a little but otherwise remains stoic.

"Pat, come on, say something," Joan urges quietly, nudging the sapphire ghost.

"Yeah, Padre, ignore him," Roman glares at Virgil in a way that makes him want to leap into bed and hide his head under the covers. Palpable waves of pure ire shoot from Roman's eye.

Virgil pretends he can't feel it.

"Pat," Joan hugs the ghost comfortingly.

The silence has been in place for too long now, and Virgil's getting uncomfortable. And now the guilt is starting manifest and nest, and he's stressing out, and he's breathing a little too fast. (Why did he have to be mean? Was that the right decision? Oh God, Patton must be furious with him right now! What does he do? What if he's ruined their friendship? Will he want them to leave the couch here? He made a horrible impression on Joan, too! What if Patton doesn't want him to meet all the other ghosts? What if—)

He freezes his mindful ranting at the familiar pattern his ears absorb.

He inhales.

He glances up and meets eyes with Patton.

The ghost is still sitting, and Roman and Joan are frantically asking if he's okay, but Patton is staring directly at him, breathing with intent and steadiness.

In and out.

In.

And.

Out.

Virgil calms down.

(Fuck it all, Patton will always help Virgil, even when they're disagreeing).

"On one condition."

Joan and Roman stop their fussing over Virgil and avert their attention to Patton.

"Come again?" Roman asks, holding Virgil's hand in his own.

Patton clears his throat, "You can help me out, on _one_ _condition_."

Roman places a finger on his lips, silently ordering Virgil not to comment, "Which is?"

"We help Joan along the way."

Virgil opens his mouth angrily but Roman whips a hand over it, effectively drowning out the impending speech.

Joan pipes up, "Patton, I love you, but you don't have to do this for me..."

" _Yes_ ," Patton seethes passionately, "I do. You're my family, and so are the others."

They contemplate for a millisecond, but Joan hastily gives in, well aware that Patton will never budge on matters of his family.

(It's at this point hat Virgil realizes his mistake: he was so busy worrying about Patton, that he'd forgotten about Patton worrying for his friends, who are likely twenty times as important as he is to his undead friend).

"Now," Roman runs his hands together nervously, playing the unusual role of moderator, "If that's the case, then Joan, do you have any info for us regarding how to find your comrades?"

Joan nods, "Yeah—um, Pat's probably already told you, but Val's tether item-y thing is a projector. We don't really know who took it—"

"Hold on," Roman holds up a finger, pulling out his phone for note-taking.

He nods at Joan, who continues, "Talyn's attached this really ugly bat plush that they adore but we all think is disgusting. A little red-headed girl bought it; she was with her mom, who was short and had kind of brown-red hair, but not to the level of her daughter. Terrence is tethered to a lightbulb that has an exceptional battery power, but finally gave out. So, I'd wager he's probably in a garbage dump of some sorts. Uh—Emile was stuck to this hideous brown sweater, and that's coming from me. I don't know anything about who bought it. I wish there was someone who saw..."

They trail off all of a sudden.

Patton raises his head a bit, "Joan, are you okay—"

"But we _do_ know someone who saw!" Joan bursts excitedly, "Patton, I haven't talked to him in months, but he's always snooping around somewhere! If he's still here, he must've seen everything play out. He'll know who bought Val and Emile—he's right next to their stores!"

Patton shivers at the thought of whoever this person is and Virgil really wants to reach out to comfort him.

The blue ghost agrees, though, "Are you sure it's a good idea to go see him, kiddo? He never wants to talk to us."

"True, but he's our only lead on those two," Joan explains, an apologetic expression growing on his face.

Patton tilts his head towards the ceiling and addresses Roman and Virgil, who have been listening to this conversation play out, "Alright, before we leave, we need to stop by the Croc Store."

Virgil doesn't know exactly what to say (because _that_ is not what he was expecting) and Roman's face turns green (because the prospect of crocs in general is enough to make the man projectile vomit like he's had pea soup).

"Pardon me," Roman interjects, pale and sweating now, "but, who are we meeting in a...in a—sorry, this is hard for me. Who in Leo DiCaprio's good name is in a _Croc_ _Store_?"

Patton exchanges a look with Joan, "See, the thing is, he never actually told us his name."

" _What_?" Virgil finally joins in, wanting to have a say if this could somehow harm them.

"No, no," Patton flails his arms, still wary around Virgil (and vise-versa), "He's not dangerous! He's just a little..."

Patton bites his lips.

"Deceitful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who aren't aware yet, I generally update every Weekend! (Also if you have litearally any questions or feedback, feel free to ask!)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (also why did none of you tell me I had a grammar mistake in the book summary I'm so embarrassed it's been months)


	13. A Snake Among Crocs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang tries to get info form this mysterious new ghost, and Virgil makes a pivotal decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all, I am here with this weekend's update. It's a little late, I know. Shame me for life. Alas, I have the displeasure of taking Biology.
> 
> Anyways, have a great week, guys, and excuse any grammar mistakes, I haven't gone through this a whole lot.

"Ow— _Jesus_ fucking, fuck fuck fu—"

"Watch the profanity, sweetheart, the peasants are staring at us."

Virgil stifles the knee-jerk wail that he wants to emit. This is the third time he's dropped this idiotic green couch on his foot. The _third_ time. And Roman, who's on the pushing side, by the way, is completely bruise-free.

"Why do we even have to take Patton with us?" Virgil pouts as he narrowly misses slicing off his entire fucking foot, "No offense, Pat."

An aqua blue mouth materializes above the couch (Virgil prays that no one's watching them and possibly calling the Ghostbusters), whispering, "None taken, kiddo. But I doubt our friend will be willing to talk to just you two."

"Doesn't sound like much of a friend," Virgil comments as they maneuver the couch around a badly placed trash can (God is testing him today).

"You're not wrong," the ghost admits reluctantly, "We tried to get him to open up to us, but to no avail. Though, I am quite proud to say that I got the most out of him. His favorite color is yellow and he likes snakes a lot!"

The floating mouth smiles a thousand watts at the thought of his hardly-acquaintance, almost topping a bushel of kittens on the adorable scale.

"Alright, Padre, my body is not designed for this kind of heavy lifting," Roman complains, sniffling, "And it isn't even leg day today."

They hobble past a decorated ice cream shop, donned with colorful steamers and bright neon signs.

"Aw, Roman, I would help if I could," Patton sympathizes as if Roman's actually found any heavy lifting.

Roman drops his side of the couch for a moment in front of a small pizza place with a large quantity of dog pictures spread all over its walls. He allows Virgil to drag the lime leather along for a few moments, but is locked with a wicked stare, so he hurriedly yanks it up again.

"Boo-hoo, bitch. At least you're on the pushing side."

They turn a sharp corner, shoving through bustling clusters of people with oodles of shopping bags who are in a frantic hurry to meet someone or get someplace.

"Excuse you, pushing this couch is hard work for a sophisticated man like me."

They turn another corner.

"Listen here you little sophisticated fucker—"

"Guys," Patton shushes suddenly, "The Croc store is right there!"

Roman glares at the crocodile logo as if it murdered his children.

He shivers like a frostbitten animal and holds his patterned jacket tight to his chest. The horrible fashion statements radiating from the store seem to be making him sick (seriously, his face is couch green).

Roman gulps.

"I _despise_ crocs."

***

A bell sings from the top of the door, off-key and blatantly loud, similar to Roman's shower singing.

"I don't think I've ever done that much physical labor in my entire life," Roman stretches his arms in that good-ache way, and flicks a glistening drop of diamond sweat from his brow. He resembles a prince, glowing in the morning sunlight.

"I hate everything," Virgil growls to his left, drenched in sweat and somehow coated in dust, looking like he's just gone dumpster diving.

"I love this style!" Patton exclaims softly, examining the new Croc line stacked at each wall. They all look the same to Virgil.

Roman visibly struggles not to say anything and Virgil can't help tack on a, "said no one ever," under his breath.

"Okay, kiddos!" Patton's floating mouth starts, "The store's pretty small, so we'll need to make sure no one is around."

They pointedly observe the quaint, rubber filled room which has approximately one person in it. It's the register guy, who's taking a peaceful nap (Virgil's jealous, to be honest. He'd sacrifice someone, probably Roman, to a pagan god for an extra hour of sleep).

"I don't believe that will be much of a problem," Roman grimaces, shielding his eyes from the sorry excuses of footwear.

"Alright, what's he tethered to?" Virgil asks, waving his hand in front of the sleeping worker's face and poking his head. The man grumbles for a moment, but reverts back to an actual Snorlax three seconds later. He keeps one eye on the worker and grabs a pair of Crocs, toeing off his shoes and slipping them on (he's never worn them before today, but he must admit they are comfortable. If all goes well, Roman won't notice he's tried them on).

"He's stuck to one of the ceiling tiles," Patton fully solidifies, floating upwards. He taps one of the stained beige squares. Nothing happens.

Virgil and Roman raise their eyebrows at the impending silence.

They raise their eyebrows another inch.

Virgil sighs and raises his arms in a sad, sarcastic surrender, "Well, looks like there's no one here. Sorry Pat, it was worth a try, but your friend must have left along with the othe—"

"Boo."

"—FUCK."

Roman screeches and shoots straight (ha) into the air, Virgil doing the same except towards the ground, which is decidedly the more painful outcome. He ignores the pain of a hundred suns in his left buttock in favor of facing whatever piece of shit thought it would be a good idea to startle him like this.

All eyes glue themselves on this new, demanding presence.

Hovering among the rows of rainbow themed crocs is an odd ghost (at least, as far as ghosts go).

The man's attire flaps to the ground dramatically in an ominous flowing cape effect that Virgil only wishes he could pull off. His glow is a sickening gold, that's somehow beautiful and gross at the same time (kind of like how Virgil views Crocs).

What surprises the humans, however, is the ghost's face.

One side is normal—handsome even (Roman's thought, by the way, not Virgil's), but the other is covered in—well, Virgil can't really tell.

Virgil rubs his aching back and squints, "What the hell are those things?"

The ghost flutters his eyelashes and models for them, "I don't know what you're talking about. The real question is," he points to the pair of purple Crocs that Virgil is wearing, "What are those?"

Virgil crosses his arms, offended and pretending he can't see Roman's horrified and betrayed expression, "They are my Crocs—"

Patton opens his mouth to scold him.

"—Which I was just trying on. Calm yourself, Bob Ross, I wasn't about to steal from a _Croc_ store."

"Whatever you say," the newer ghost hisses in interjection with a sultry lick of the lips, flying too close for comfort.

Roman steps forward in his princely glory to defend his friend, "Back off, you snake. I'm assuming those are meant to be scales, but I'm sorry to say I've seen Virgil do a better make up job than that."

"Oh really?" The ghost sings wickedly, "Well Virgil can stick my old mascara brush right up his—"

" _Okay_!" Patton does a nervous rendition of his jazz hands (a habit that Virgil and Roman are quite amused of), "Deceit! It's a darn-tootin' pleasure to see you again."

Roman frowns and wrinkles his nose, "Deceit?"

"It's what we call him," Patton explains, glaring lightly at the gold spirit, though an underlying tone of playful (endearing, almost?) rises to the surface, "Since he won't tell us his _name_."

Deceit shrugs agonizingly slow, "The worst ammo a person can give to another is your name."

Patton scoffs and pushes his glasses up his nose, huffing, "I just wanted to be your friend. Still do."

"Sorry, Patton," Deceit flashes his fangs to resemble some sort of partially-meant apology, "Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead, but if both are dead, it's a whole other story."

Patton gives the ghost his disapproving dad look that Virgil is glad isn't directed at him (it was last time; which isn't fair; Roman stole his cereal boxes first).

"Enough chit-chat, ladies," Roman bloats his chest to max capacity and struts up to Deceit, "We're here for a favor."

"Ooh," Deceit coos, "I'm listening."

Roman waves one arm invitingly, "You tell him, Padre."

Patton rises a meter in the air and faces his friend-slash-not-friend, "Deceit, I need to know what you know about Val and Emile."

Deceit tilts his head to the side ponderingly, "Somehow I thought that's what you'd ask."

"Well?" Virgil prompts impatiently. He taps his foot against the ground. They've been here too long already. If helping Joan is what it takes to make any leeway on Patton's murder, then he wants to help the beanie-wearing dead man as soon as possible.

"Well," Deceit breathes, slicing through the small space using half-assed flips (Virgil thinks there's something weird about this guy, more so than with Remy and Joan. Remy is some sort of sexual creep, yet so is Roman. And Joan is a bit of a dork, but this Deceit is causing a more sinister emotion to coil in Virgil's heart), "You know what our dear Remy always says."

"Toodles, my little sexy bitch?" Roman questions, concerned.

Deceit loses his persona momentarily, and facepalms gracefully, "No, you imbecile. Patton knows what I'm talking about. Pat, dear, what does Rem always tell us?"

There's something off about Patton now; his perpetual cheer is dim and he almost cowers in on himself.

Patton breathes deeply, "An eye for an eye."

Virgil groans, "Of fucking course. What do you want from us?"

"Oh, nothing much," Deceit giggles, "Just..."

He disappears from the room, leaving just his mouth, the same way Patton did on the way here.

"...Your names."

***

"Thank fuck, we're finally home," Virgil clasps his hands and embraces the sweet smell of his musty apartment, exhausted from the second trip of moving that godforsaken couch, "That dude was he creepiest little shit I've ever met. And I've sat through entire Marvel movies with Roman monologuing about the things he wants to do to Chris Hemsworth."

"Hey," Roman argues, "Even you have to admit, that man is God's gift to earth."

"I'm sorry," Virgil snorts, "Have you seen Tom Hiddleston?"

"Hey, guys," Patton shyly stops the possible catastrophic argument that was about to go down, "Thanks for offering to help me find my friends."

Roman and Virgil exchange a look. After giving up their identity to Deceit, which was certainly odd in itself, the ghost told them the names of the people who bought Patton's friends, Emile and Valerie. The three agreed that they would continue their search tomorrow, after they'd all gotten some sleep. They made one last pit stop at the bookstore and allowed Patton to say his goodbyes to Joan. While outside, Roman and Virgil had a little discussion (long story short, Virgil is not about to wait on solving Patton's murder, just to find these ghosts who already know who killed them. Call him selfish, but if it's not Patton, he doesn't really care).

Roman grins jubilantly, "It's our pleasure, Patton. We'd scour the ends of the world to assist you on this journey."

Patton's glow dims gratefully and he dips his head, "It means a lot to me."

Virgil purses his lips and Roman taps the door, shooting the emo a warning look, "I'm going to head home for the night. Bye, Padre."

Patton smiles, "See ya, Roman!"

Roman nods at Virgil and whispers, "Don't mess this up."

The door closes behind him and Virgil waits a moment before speaking again.

"I'll be back in a sec, Pat. I need to pick up some Chinese."

***

"Logan?"

"Virgil, what is it that you need?"

"Don't freak out."

"There's not much that can elicit that response in me anymore, with you and Roman as my acquaintances."

"Okay..."

"Spit it out."

Virgil hopes this is a good idea.

"I need you to help me solve a murder."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes there is a reason that deceits portion is kinda short don't hate


	14. Death By Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad news: Logan is pissed 
> 
> Good news: Virgil has 9-1-1 on speed dial
> 
> Bad news: His phone is out of battery
> 
> Good news: fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! I wish all y'all a wonderful four-day weekend if you've got one like me. If not, I wish you even more luck.
> 
> Have a Logan-abundant chapter to hopefully lift your spirits.

The world is currently ending—hellfire, biblical flooding, the works.

And no, it has nothing to do with heart-wrenching _Grey's Anatomy_ episode Roman and Virgil just watched (though it comes in a close second; also, Virgil will not admit his liking for that show in a thousand years, so don't even try him. He was a yellow belt in Tae-Kwon-Do during elementary school).

The end of the universe as we know it stems from the freezing wrath of the walking dictionary himself, Logan Kline.

"How long have you two imbeciles known about this?"

Virgil locks eyes with Roman shamefully, trembling in terror. Roman, ever the coward, shrugs jerkily, and Virgil realizes that he'll have  to gallop into this suicidal battle alone.

"See," Virgil picks at the flecks of mold decorating the couch, "It's not a matter of how long we've known. It's that we decided to tell you _now_."

  
Virgil looks up with a pleading grin but is met by an icy deadpan. Roman yelps and squeezes his hand, preparing for their impending doom.

Logan adjusts his sleek frames and inhales deeply, "In the words of you yourself, Virgil: 'bull-fucking-shit'."

Roman and Virgil gasp violently (Logan never curses. He thinks that it's overdramatic and unnecessary. The only time they've ever seen him drop the f-bomb was when Roman got drunk, dressed up as Freddy Mercury and slept in Logan's bed without informing him. If Virgil wasn't so bat-shit scared, he'd be cackling at the fond memory).

  
"Logan," Roman places a proud hand on his heart, the blatant fear retreating, "What did you just say to me?"

"Bull-fucking-shit," Virgil supplies helpfully while Logan says, "You heard me."

"Oh my god," Roman wipes away a glistening tear, "This is the happiest moment of my life."

"Not for long," Logan glares accusingly.

Roman gulps and tones down the teasing baby voice and mocking gestures. Logan paces, adorned in the usual dress shoes, over the ketchup-stained carpet. Virgil and Roman have ruled that it's probably smart to let their friend process, and just sink into the couch that they spent hours dragging to the apartment after the whole Flicker Mall ordeal (Virgil was hoping for a good night's sleep, God forbid. But when he called Logan to slip him the details of the murder, the glasses-wearing detective stormed right up to Sunny Oaks like a soldier on a mission, dragging Roman by his sensitive ear. That is, after Virgil convinced him that the whole thing wasn't a rebooted version of the unspeakable Prank War). And, though he hasn't shown himself, the Friendly Ghost is hanging around, out of sight and mind.

Logan abruptly quits pacing to divert sharply towards the couch. He once-overs his best friends, pauses, and pounds his forehead on his hand repeatedly.

" _How_ ," he finally begins, "could you keep something like this from me?"

Roman rushes to console, "It was never our intention to; we just knew that you'd tell us not to—"

"No," Logan lowers himself to his knees decisively, eyes scrunched tight, "Never mind. I do not wish to speak about this right now."

Worry tinges the tattered edges of Virgil's thoughts (Logan isn't one to submit so easily. Should they press him to vent his feelings, or let him confront them later, after he's worked through his normally scarce emotions?)

"We're undeniably sorry, Logan. We were planning on telling you sometim—"

"Roman," he spits, "I do not want to speak about this right now."

Roman sags and allows his rainbow bangs to hide his stormy features, "As you wish."

Inserting himself back into the fray, Virgil reels the conversation back to its starting point (he deems that Logan needs space in regards to why they kept this from him for so long).

"So, is our resident nerd down to help us solve a mystery, Sherlock Holmes style?" Virgil splashes in a tad of humor, hoping to lighten the melancholy mood.

Logan's disposition refuses to crack, "Despite my sorrow that you decided to shield such pivotal information regarding your lives from me, I will always be ready, assisting to the best of my abilities. Yes, I will gladly help solve this murder. However, I would like to gather facts straight from the victim, unless I'm not allowed to see him for some absurd reason."

Virgil flinches at the jab, but performs a small mental break dance, as he wasn't positive Logan would agree to play Sheriff, thanks to his inability to maintain healthy friendships without them inevitably crumbling like a stale saltine cracker.

Roman frowns, "You are certainly permitted to see him. Cat's out of the bag, right?"

Logan nods and sighs, "In that case, where is this ghost friend of yours?"

Virgil shifts uncomfortably, "Funny you should say that."

"It's really not," Logan says.

"No—just," Virgil waves his hand to the invisible onlooker, "He's here right now."

Logan tilts his chin to the stained ceiling, "Where—?"

"Hiya!"

" _Fuck_!"

" _Holy_ shitcakes," Roman leans to Virgil, whispering as he absorbs the delightful image of their nerd bestie strewn across he floor, clutching his chest, "That's twice in one day. Logan's getting spicy."

"Are you keeping tallies, creepy stalker?" Virgil raises amused eyebrow.

"Maybe."

"That was a joke."

"Oh..."

Virgil bites back his witty response, instead lending Logan a helping hand.

"Doing okay?" he rubs Logan's shoulder (an action that genuinely makes him want to projectile vomit everywhere, so you ought to appreciate the lengths he'll go for his few friends). Patton frowns at the man sitting, compacted on the carpet.

"I t-thought you were lying. All the facts added up but there was a seed of doubt planted—I can't believe that—It doesn't make sense. _He_ doesn't make sense."

Logan's shoulders tremor and shake like unplanned earthquakes. His pupils are blown out of perimeters, and it's almost as bad as when they all sat down to watch Rosemary's Baby about a year ago (Roman, shockingly, was the only one who managed to choke down disturbed sounds).

And, in situations like these, Virgil knows exactly what to do, all thanks to the ghost lingering cautiously above his head. He motions for Patton to pop back into invisibility mode for a moment, and flips Roman off as to say, "Fuck off. Now is not the time to shower him with compliments to make up for us being bad friends."

Roman receives the message and crouches back onto the couch.

He centers his attention on his friend who's worldview has been tossed inside a train that collided with a canyon built from steel. He smooths out the cracks in his voice, trying desperately to create the illusion that he is soothing to listen to.

"Okay, Logan, I need you to breath with me. Ready, inhale...Exhale...One, two, three..."

***

"Fascinating," Logan gazes at Patton's shimmering form like a child in a candy store (or Virgil in his bed).

"Thank you," Patton blushes lily-white, "Want me to do the invisible thing again?"

"Please do."

Roman glances up from his phone with a groan, "How long gave they been at this?"

"About, I don't know—four fucking hours," Virgil says, running his fingers across the incomplete puzzle he started thirty minutes ago.

Roman crumples up a stray piece of paper and tosses it halfheartedly at Logan. It bounces straight off, and he acts as if he didn't feel it.

He flops onto the couch "Why is God punishing us so, Virge?"

"I think this is karma for not telling him until now. I'll be a ghost by the time he finishes needing out about how, 'his bioluminescent properties are simply extraordinary', yada, yada, yada, " Virgil mocks Logan, who is paying them no attention whatsoever.

"Do you think he'll end up helping us solve this drama-filled murder?" Roman asks and shuts off his phone with an audible click.

Virgil sighs, "I hope so. I'm planning on asking him to do the heavy duty investigating while you and I help find his friends to bring back to Flicker Mall."

"And are we just going to leave our starry-eyed specter here while we have are dead manhunt? I doubt that he'd like that news, even if he'd never actually say it."

Virgil raises his hands in exasperation, "Well, what are supposed to do?! Drag that miserable couch along with us the whole way? I don't know about you, but I think I have major scoliosis after lugging that thing a mile at the mall, and I'm not about to volunteer to do it again."

"If I may," Logan creepily says, popping out of literally nowhere and causing Virgil to have to practice those same breathing exercises from earlier today, "I think I may have a solution."

"Ooh, spill," Roman tucks his palm under his chin as Virgil struggles to catch his breath.

Patton floats to Logan's side fondly, "This absolute genius here was asking about the properties of the items that we're tethered to, and had an idea."

Logan humbly bows his head, "I wouldn't say _genius_..."

"Fuck off, we all know your IQ is twice the size of ours combined. Get on with the idea," Virgil orders.

"Well, I anticipated that moving Patton would be a problem, considering your complete lack of athleticism. From what I've gathered, destroying the object that a ghost is tethered to is not at all an intelligent idea."

"No shit."

"If you would allow me to finish, Virgil."

"Sorry. Go on, teenage Einstein."

"But," Logan explains, "There doesn't seem to be any rule about altering the object."

"Huh," Virgil nods, "Okay, I'll bite. But what could we make this monstrosity into?"

Logan grins a little wickedly, "I let Patton decide that one."

Patton giggles happily.

"Kiddo, how would you feel about a brand new, spectacular, vomit green leather jacket?!"

It takes all of Virgil's willpower to not belch.

 

 


End file.
